Just Me
I don’t see what he sees.
He says:
clever,
but my thoughts feel cluttered,
a slow tangle of almost‑ideas
doomed to never bloom.
talented,
yet my fingers hesitate,
hovering over half‑finished hopes
I’m too shy to ever try.
beautiful,
but the mirror mutters back
in muted tones
as eyes pause at the flaws.
funny,
but my jokes are bitter,
sputtering slivers of vitriolic wit
scattering anywhere, everywhere.
And still his words arrive
again and again,
a chorus of praise I don’t believe,
Maybe one day
I’ll catch a glimpse
of what they insist exists.
But for now I'm just me.
Just me trying to trust
they’re not wrong
about who I am.
@daveashleypoet.bsky.social
#MadMarch
#just
#poetry