POEM FOR MY IMPOSTER SYNDROME

Stay up late at night
I suck / no talent / have you all fooled
Go to sleep
Dream of failure
Wake up
I’m terrible / how could anyone love me
Pop open the laptop
Have to practice breathing for a minute
Avoid being distracted
Too many June bugs crashing into my window
Buzzing and thumping
Trying to destroy me
I anthropomorphize all events
Paint everything purple
Need to dive deeper
Imagine a house in my body
Descend the staircase and look outside
There are mountains
Of course there are mountains
And grass and flowers as far as the eye can see
Living machinery
Breathing conveyer belts
Transporting thought and feeling
There’s a bunch of fear
Some tension
A little strength
I muster it—and courage and faith
Recall the times I forced myself to believe in god
This is better / more useful
Praying is a self-fulfilling prophecy
All I have to do is water the plants
Trim the leaves
Take out the garbage
Incinerate doubt in a pit at the edge of my garden
Breathe breathe breathe breathe
Open my eyes
Know this moment is not against me
It’s already fled
I can do my own shit and feel okay about it
There’s room enough for all of us
And time
And love
And ever-fading meaning
There are ways for us to feel each other
To refuse to bury ourselves in silent litigation
To expose life and swim in its colors

 

 

THINGS THAT MAKE ME FEEL EMBARRASSED

Speaking, walking through any crowded room or open
space, asking for help, having a body, complaining about

having a body, not understanding big grad school words,
understanding big grad school words, catching my reflection

in a mirror, listening to the thoughts in my head, considering
any moment in my past, even one second ago when I was

wondering what to say here, and questioning, questioning,
always questioning myself, my intent, is this push towards

healing selfish, am I a selfish person for wanting the tiny
drops of comfort that form on the sphere of glass I keep

around my innermost self, is it a crime to be this sensitive,
should I be leaving the house more, oh no, now I’m sad,

is it wrong to feel sad, where is my labor going, oh no,
I didn’t answer that text, didn’t respond to those emails,

was too busy dying, convinced I was dying, whatever,
the other day a stranger caught me standing out beneath

the sun and smiling with my eyes shut at the warm
breath of wind upon my face and oh god I was so

embarrassed I erased the moment, dropped the
catharsis, abandoned my relief for the pigeons

and flies to feast upon with love.