Dreams of granduer shattered by empty space.
What I hate they love
and what I love they politly move on from.
Constant comparison accompanied by the little voice in my head
“Stay true to yourself, you’re doing just as good”.
I wasn’t raised to be “just as good”.
I was raised to be better.
Raised by gifted kid syndrome.
I know I don’t need to be better.
But who’s going to tell the other voice in my head that?
I dream of jealousy
and cloak myself with emeralds.
And so I slap my knuckles
and dreams of grandeur.