It’s exhausting,
watching you glide through life
like you’ve got everything figured out,
like the world was made
to showcase your brilliance.
Your every move is precise,
effortless—
like you never had to work
for any of it.

I hate how you make it look so easy,
how everything about you
is clean and polished
like there’s no shadow,
no crack,
no flaw to hold onto.
I stumble,
I fall,
but you?
You float above it all,
untouched,
unscathed by the things
that tear the rest of us apart.

Your smile,
it’s not even real—
it’s too perfect,
too rehearsed,
too bright for someone like me
who’s still trying to find a way out
of all their mess.

I hate how you never seem
to feel the weight
that pulls the rest of us under,
how you speak,
how you breathe,
like everything is just
a little too right.

But more than that,
I hate that I can’t stop looking,
can’t stop measuring myself
against the version of you
that’s always just a little better,
a little sharper,
a little more perfect
than I could ever be.