What happens
when it gets repetitive?
The praise rings out from across the room.
They say I’ll be the next star—
but hasn’t the praise gone too far?
It’s at a point
where it doesn’t feel genuine,
because every comment
feels the same.
They put others down
just to say I’m great.
They always say, “It’s fate.”
They paint the picture—
each stroke glory.
They decide the plot of my story.
Sometime soon,
it should stop.
But this topic
is something they won’t drop.
They hype me up with every move,
even when it’s a mistake.
Their supportive spirit—
it just won’t break.
Now it feels like weights—
pressure I must bear,
just so I don’t disappoint
everyone who’s there.
And now it feels like a mantra,
a song they endlessly sing.
‘Cause all they do is sing my praise,
to make me feel like a king.
And now I feel guilty,
because they put themselves down—
they put me first.
It’s as if I was given a crown…
a crown too heavy for my head.
Even worse,
it feels like a curse.
A curse—
with no end.
