Thursday, 4 April 2013

Selling Yourself Short

My guess is
That you’re trying to not be what you are
So wonderfully, hysterically futile

My guess is
That you’re selling yourself woefully short
I know I did

I kept my sights in check
Punched well below my weight
Procrastinated, dissembled
And came up with a hundred excuses
Believing that if I hid beneath the parapet
I might escape the inescapable

Trying not to be this
Made me mad
Not all-out-bonkers insane
But contained, constrained, numb

Then the lying came to an abrupt halt
There I was, totally exposed
Deeply insecure, stumbling uncertainly
Rendered utterly incapable
Of being anything other than this, here, now

And inexplicably, incomprehensibly happy