“I wish you could change,
I wish you could be like my son.”
Words that define my imperfections.
Words that stabs me right through my heart.
Words that I’ve been trying to fight,
trying to be like the ideal son
that is loved by everyone.
I’m trying so hard to change my imperfections,
nothing seems ideal enough
to make you love me like your son.
Is it so hard to give love back?
Even if it’s just a little love,
a little less than the one given to you.
Trust me … I’ve tried to battle with my imperfections
to fit your ideals.
Maybe my smiles are too perfect to be true …
“How can he smile with yellow, cracked teeth?”
“How can he laugh so hard with that bad breath?”
“How can he look handsome in those worn rags?”
Your ideal son might have had
a silver spoon I never had in his mouth,
he might have had the mother I never I knew.
Even worse, abandoned in my home.
How could I be ideal,
while the love you give isn’t ideal either?
Sorry for being imperfect to but …
My imperfections are perfect.
My imperfections are ideal.
You just lack the love to see that.