Expectations.

Stressed, anxious.

Their dreamy aspirations

and their many obligations.

These fancy, pretty, perfect preparations.

They expect from me brave declarations

Isn’t that the point of these nominations?

All of this adoration, this admiration, this adulation?

What if I can’t live up to these reputations?

What if I can’t be the person in their imaginations?

What if all this grand glorification turns into more macabre medications?

I feel like I’m constantly being watched under this careful, contrite consideration.

Only one wrong step, only one mistake and they need a full explanation.

Now it feels like it’s all invasive implications, all abrasive accusations, all concise complications.

Not even my family, my friends bother to stop for a simple, mere little conversation.

And they all ask me, “What are your current occupations, your personal organizations, your clever innovations?”

They all act like it’s some big, insane revelation, when they realize my lack of high classification.

And it’s all my fault I couldn’t get a relevant recommendation, that I didn’t meet the absurd acclamations.

And I’m to blame that I fell short of the candid, complex qualifications, that I quickly reached my limitations.

I’m the one responsible for not ruling nations, for not being known by populations, for being such a bad representation.