I will never meet the expectations you have of me.
While I grow to reach them, they grow faster.
They grow like vines,
Twisting.
Squeezing.
Climbing.
Suffocating.
Constricting.
­They strangle me, and I cannot fight them off.
Cannot bear to appear less than them.
I.
Will.
Not.
Be.
Less.
But it seems it is too late for that.
I am always less
To you.