CALL ME PERFECT

You once said I was perfect.

You said I was invincible, unbendable, unbreakable.
You called me your hero, your strength, your Atlas.
You stated I could not stumble, fall, fail.

You called me perfect.

I'm not.

You said you needed me, relied on me, wanted me.
You asked me to help you, carry you, save you.
You said my shoulders were strong enough for you to lean on, cry on, hold yourself steady on.

You called me perfect.

I'm not.
I wasn't.
I'm weak.
I cried.
I fell.
I stumbled.
I'm unsure.
I hide.
I screamed.
I ran away.
I'm scared.

You called me perfect.

I'm not.

I just wanted to be called "your son."