Imperfection, he called himself; his name often popular, the burden weighed upon his manly-shoulder; Am I the true successor of this family; no facial hair or a mustache meant I was not matured, my lil’ dreams compared with highly expectations as I lie trapped in the abys raised by others; all of the finance, the money single-handedly for I have to bring; the ability to grow a beard; a good sense-of-style, a clearcut profile, a handsome young man; to have a defined set of six-pack-abs, a fit and strong man not weak and lonely; I was told to grow up, to not fear; to not query others; and I question if I am a uncapable to match this world; where do I stand amongst’ all; everyone’s eyes and hearts filled with hopes that I’d do great and bring the bounty home; I notice the other men, abusive, wickedly-thoughts, drinkards; not all considered like this, some men were good-hearted and wanted a “change” so peculiar to clear up this brainwashed society like me; I promised myself to not be like “them”; now I grew-up well, looking back at my thoughts; time changes and with all the pressure suffocating me, I broke my promise; I became like other men…