Oh, you value your peace, claim you’re above all the noise,
Yet here you are, defending your honour and your boys—
Cristiano or Messi, the battle’s your creed,
You’d wake the dead just to argue whose speed.
But when I speak, suddenly I’m “too much,”
Emotional baggage that just needs a crutch.
Call me a saddle, call me a rein—
You’ve got tips for managing my pain.
Meanwhile, you’re calling me up at 3 a.m., loud,
To shout that your G.O.A.T. made the whole stadium proud.
Oh, now who’s dramatic? Who’s drowning in feelings?
I get it, I get it—your hero’s ideal.
My emotions, you say, are a storm to be quelled,
Yet you’ll raise a glass when the trophy is held.
How brave, how noble, to praise from afar—
Does your screen worship make you a star?
When I need a word, a hand to hold tight,
I’m “needy,” I’m “clingy,” I’m just not right.
But my friend, my dear, take a seat and behold—
Emotions are human, they’re not bought or sold.
So cheer for your player, debate who’s the best,
But don’t come for me about emotional “tests.”
I’ll raise my own banner, bright and proud red—
And live as I feel, no more words unsaid.
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