I am never as good as I think
But my hindsight is horribly accurate.
I stumble and stagger but my limbs,
Oh they are the problem, aren't they?
Convincing me that I am some...
Swan Lake ballet dancer gliding through life
When I am in fact making a fool of myself.
Passion bleeds into stupidity
And some days now I can't tell the difference
Between my greatest accomplishments
And my most horrendous failures.
I'm a fool playing a child's game and losing.
Losing badly, as it seems.
.
I am never as good as I think,
Always turning around with the grim realization
That I am the worst kind of dreamer,
The one with small butterfly dreams and no net.
What did I think I was going to do?
Catch them with my bare hands?
I am in the process of crushing all that I love,
Squeezing it between my fingers in a futile effort
To keep its small, beating heart here
Between the scared sweat of my palms.
I am never as good as I think and that is a cruelty
Punishable by divine intervention.
Only, I fear I've been damned to this dance forever.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Silver Daux and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx5 days ago in FYI
Comments (7)
Too relatable. Very well penned, Silver! The catching butterflies with bare hands line shook me
This. I have felt every word of it and still do. You are enough. And these lines, which can apply to so much, hit me that this is how I feel about trying to hang on to my kids younger years. 'I am in the process of crushing all that I love, Squeezing it between my fingers in a futile effort To keep its small, beating heart here' Reminds me of old Bugs Bunny cartoons when the abominable snow man or yeti (whatever, lol) squeezed Daffy Duck to death to hold him and love him and call him George. It's so easy to do. Love this from you yet hate this for you!
This is incredible. I love the repetition and the butterfly imagery 🦋
If I were to give my introduction next time , I would just read this poem infact learn it! Incredibly written and thank you for writing "me" down 💕
*Deep sigh* Just ouch... the relatability is unreal!! This was so good though! Great work SD!
Oh damn. Girl, I know.
There is delectable paradox here: if you meditate upon your anxiety concerning your work in your work, the justification for your anxiety is bound to shrink, because your reader will almost certainly be able to identify and empathize with the horrors of impostor syndrome--at least, this neurotic nerd was!