Imperfection,
he called himself;
his name often popular,
the burden weighed upon his manly-shoulder;
Am I the true successor of this family;

no facial hair or a mustache meant I was not matured,
my lil’ dreams compared with highly expectations
as I lie trapped in the abyss raised by others;
all of the finance,
the money single-handedly for I have to bring;
the ability to grow a beard;

a good sense-of-style,
a clearcut profile, a handsome young man;
to have a defined set of six-pack-abs,
a fit and strong man not weak and lonely;
I was told to grow up, to not fear;
to not query others;
and I question if I am a uncapable to match this world;

where do I stand amongst’ all;
everyone’s eyes and hearts filled with hopes
that I’d do great and bring the bounty home;
I notice the other men, abusive,
wickedly-thoughts, drinkards;
not all considered like this,
some men were good-hearted and wanted a “change”

so peculiar to clear up this brainwashed society like me;
I promised myself to not be like “them”;
now I grew-up well,
looking back at my thoughts;
time changes and with all the pressure suffocating me,
I broke my promise;
I became like other men…