Imposter syndrome taunts in a voice that sounds exactly like mine.
Anxiety hands it a microphone.
ADHD plays 52 card pick up with my thoughts-
hyperfixates on negativity.
Invisible illness renders me too damn tired
to fight back.
Capitalism builds an entire amphitheater
for the performance
finds a way to fill the seats and profit
off of my fear.
I am afraid
the art I make will be good
and I will be expected to be good at things.
I am afraid the art I make will be bad
and I will use this as definitive evidence
that I am bad.
(this binary is a false equivalency
I am learning how to surrender
instead of disregarding my creations
and my creativity.)
self-censorship is like mugging yourself.
my voice has enough soundproofing
I didn’t install
in this world hellbent on silencing
femmes, queers,
and so many of us
How can I be my own oppressor too?
the poems I have written
the art I have made
has kept me alive.
If I’m not a writer
if I’m not an artist
then how am I still here?
& 