White picket fence,
Flowers planted in a row,
Aiming for perfection,
Though imperfect yes you know,
Smiles on everyoneâ€™s faces,
Always concealing the truth,
Pretending you are perfect,
Possessed this habit since your youth.
Everything must be just right,
Yes you loathe it when itâ€™s wrong,
You huff and then you puff,
Sighing loudly on and on.
Not everyone is like you,
No two people are the same,
Yet you pretend as though they are,
You always play this childish game.
I know that Iâ€™m imperfect,
I never claimed anything else,
Iâ€™ll admit this to you now,
As Iâ€™ve admitted it to myself,
I often look in the mirror,
And my flaws are all I see,
I beat myself up quite well,
I am the worst critic of me.
But still I hear your voice,
It echoes in my ears,
I hear opinions after opinions,
Thatâ€™s when I start to feel the tears,
Iâ€™m overwhelmed with much emotion,
Yet Iâ€™m determined not to cry,
I never show this side of myself
It is one that I consciously hide,
One that I must disguise,
I can never compromise,
Never truth always lies,
That is hidden behind these eyes.