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
over zero-drafts
and dreams of grandeur.