First Draft
If you want to change your life, read this
The only illness you suffer from is self-doubt, and it will ultimately destroy your career. Imposter syndrome is the feeling of doubting one's abilities and achievements compared to others, even when evidence suggests otherwise.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Inside and Outside
Inside, the walls make me feel crowded. I bump into them sometimes. I bump into furniture. Everything seems crowded. The doors seem useless and pointless. The fitted sheets are thrown into a bag because I can't fold them perfectly. There's stuff, little stuff of everything and nothing, everywhere like they are all homeless. Like nothing here has a real home, or a real place to belong. Just thrown in like they don't matter. The sound of the howling air conditioner is nonstop, my best friend and my worst enemy. It howls louder than a wolf, a song of "you need me, but you hate me" and the water drops say "You'd rather be swimming" in a mocking way. The floor, white tile, I sweep almost daily, swiffer or mop, it doesn't matter. It's pointless because the clean look doesn't even last one day. Not even one full 24 hour period. There's always something on the floor to make it look dirty, especially the crawling roaches that even the cat ignores. There is no smell. No smell from good cooking, or insence burning, or a fire in the fireplace, or fresh laundry from all the clothes I've folded. No smell at all, not even from the cigarettes I smoke. It's stale and cold like a hospital. Intruders have attacked, the roaches, the bees, the dirt. It's a constant territorial battle that I have to fight when nothing seems mine at all. Nothing but the chairs that I save out of the dumpster, that I sit it too long --- alone listening to the howling air conditioner --- and talking to the robots online. My legs turning into ice that feels like their going to crack into shards.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Poets
Fear
Fear, oh fear, How treacherous you are, Stealing what's not yours, Killing who has done you no wrong, Destroying the beauty, And splendour existing in ever so promising individuals, Tearing apart wonderful relationships, And leaving the victims badly wounded, Yet, he who knows your tricks escapes your trap so graciously, A people are being birthed forth, Who know you so well, And who are ready to face you boldly, Watch out, for they are coming, Brave and courageous men, Who would tear you apart as you did their ancestors, For they know who they are, And they know what is theirs, You would no longer be able to steal, kill or destroy, Oh fear, how poor you are, Your end is near, Your grip on men would soon be lost, When they realize who you truly are, An illusion.
By Maud Agyemang-Gyau 2 years ago in Poets
