PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

So damn insecure.

So unbelieving of my abilities.

So unworty of love, of kindness.



I set myself upon a higher plane,

only to knock myself downwards

and trip up my own footfalls.



I tend to believe me undeserving

of anything good, anything wondrous,

anything other, than what is.



Failures loom before me,

and oh, how they taunt,

reminding me of my inadequacies.



Imperfections jump out of mirrored views

in a shattering reality,

while shards of my doubt, cut me down to bleeding.



These shortcomings come in long reminders,

always pointing out where I've failed

and where I haven't even tried to succeed.



I feel but an oversight of self, a minor player,

allowing imperfections to take center stage

in act nothing of my tragic self-portrayal.



And yet, I know the truth of these lies,

but can't yet fathom their validity,

can't discern their factuality in my own condemnation.



Its all my weakness, its all my blame

and hard to see anything but this omnipresent truth,

when its all my un-doing, when its all my faults.