Testing the Waters

/If I wrote poems

They would all be mediocre and sad

And when people read them

They would call them mediocre and sad

If I wrote poems

They would get lost in the miasma of poems

That flurry across the internet

So many people write

So many poets post online, too

Would my words ever transcend

Reach the minds and hearts of others?

Or would they fall to the ground and dissipate?

If I wrote poems

They would all be sad and mediocre/

/All of the words I have to say

All of the feelings I hold closest to my heart

All of the thoughts that I swallow

Bite back

Keep trapped inside

Not all of them are sad

Not all of them speak of hurt and rotten anger

Not all of them speak of pain and trauma

Not all of them are about the badness of living

But a lot of unspoken pain

Needs a place to go

I'm not a burden

Yet I feel

Like I'm too much

For every where I go?

Too heavy?

Too big?

Too much space is taken up by my presence?

Makes me want to delete myself

But deleting myself

could be spun

into attention seeking?

Undoing myself is not my answer

I think I live somewhere between spite and intuition

I think I have to live

And suffer

And prove that I

Am worthy

But also, maybe,

I owe it to myself

To try and make the life

I want, deserve and desire/

/I belong somewhere

I'm not too big for them there

Accepted, at last/

Imposter Syndrome

If I wrote poems

They would all be mediocre and sad

And I don't think

A single person

Would want

To read them

But

I might be lying to myself

I could be Better Than I Think I Am

This skill

Could be natural to me

To talk

Poetically

Some people

Just have the gift

To transcend language

With their methodical use of words

Poetry is art, after all

I guess we'll have to see

Also

Who told me

I was mediocre and sad?

Who made me feel

So low

That now I carry

This imposter syndrome

In my soul?

I guess We'll have to see/

/Too much

Too quiet

Too sensitive

Too loud

Too robotic

Too weird

Too black

Not black enough

Not girly enough

Not extroverted enough

Not ghetto enough

Not pretty enough

Not trying hard enough

Not enough/

/I don't have a vagina

I don't have a vagina

I don't have a vagina

And I don't have a penis, either/

/"I am so sorry

that you

were born

into a bad body.

That your body

was born wrong.

I'm so sorry.

I don't know what I would do

if I

was born

like you "/

Born Different

One day I'll talk about the shame

The pain and trials

Of living a life

Being somewhat a ghost

People

Look right through me

Never

Really seeing me

Explanations aren't that hard

But

Minds and hearts

Also aren't easily changed

Or moved

Stories for another day,

I guess/

/What was she thinking

As she was raising me up?

Handing it well??/

/Could have been worse, yeah

We should work to stop it, yeah

Too much work? Too late?/

/She asked me

"Do you feel physically and emotionally safe in your home?"

And I choked up

I didn't mean to

I just did

Like when my doctor told me I was

Beautiful

I just

Don't know how to respond

I don't want to lie

But it's not wholly true

It could be worse

So much worse

And I'm grateful for what I have

But

I

Can't be myself here

Do I really feel loved?

Do I really feel safe?/

/Never enough, yet,

Always too much. How's that work?

Paradigm shifts hurt/

/Reusable bag

Made from recycled plastic

Twice trash on the ground/