Imposter Syndrome
a late night freestyle spiral
What am I,
But a silly little monkey
Pounding away at my keyboard
Like a child with a toy?
What makes my thoughts worthy of attention?
Why are you bothering to give me attention?
Why do I hate it, yet,
Why do I crave it?
The validation of being seen,
The horrifying ordeal of being perceived,
Where is the balance in my mind?
Why am I so willing to try again and again,
Convinced that I am somehow worthy of
The time and space I occupy,
And when that conviction is
Positively Reinforced
by Kindness
and Encouragement
I am suddenly an
Imposter?
a Fool?
a Jester?
Worthy of Nothing
But my own Ridicule?
Why can I not be as kind to myself
As complete strangers-
Silent voices stretching
Through expanses of blue light-
Are to me?
Maybe somedayI can convince myself
to shut up
And simply take a compliment.
Until then,
I am an Imposter,
Imposing on time and space
That I have no right to occupy.
And I'll keep telling myself
To just shut up already.
About the Creator
M. A. Mehan
"It simply isn't an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons." ~ J. R. R. Tolkien
storyteller // vampire // arizona desert rat
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