What's Wrong with Me?

Why don’t I see what you see

When I look at this thing in the mirror

Called “me”?

You say that I’m pretty

But I feel I’m disgusting

You say that I’m lovely

But my features are rusting

You say that I’m smart

But I fear I’m dim-witted

You say that I’m slim

But my thighs are all pitted

I’m not the right shape

And I’m not the right size

To fit into a world

Full of judgmental eyes

You say what you say

But I hear what I mean

I ignore what you say

While I silently scream

I’m so obsessed, I cannot rest

I hate the way I look

I feel like such a hypocrite

Writing all these books

Who am I to tell you

That it’s what’s inside that matters

When I can’t stop judging my own self 

As I watch my chest get flatter

As gravity pulls down my face

As my cheeks become more hollow

I’m out of tune with what I teach

I’m hardly one to follow

I know it doesn’t help me

To keep dwelling on my flaws

I know it only brings me more

Of that which is the cause

So, why do I keep doing it

If I have this awareness?

It seems I still don’t trust you

If we’re speaking in all fairness

Everyone will hate me

If I show my stupid self

I won’t have any friends at all

Just an empty shelf

A space as blank and dusty

As the surface of the moon

A heart that’s torn and rusty

With a beat that’s out of tune

It’s safer just to hide behind

Whatever mask I make

To show them what they want to see

Even if it’s fake

I have a large collection

Of these people-pleasing suits

A different cloak for every bloke

And endless pairs of boots

When I put them on

It’s like I magically transform

Into the perfect being 

Who can seamlessly conform

I can be a fawner or a joker or a mute

I can be a keener, a concealer, or a brute

I can switch from this to that

A million times a day

I’m cast as a chameleon

In this earthly play 

I’ve been a star and come so far

By blending and pretending 

It served me well until I fell

And saw I needed mending

So lately I’ve been thinking

That I’d like to change my role

Morphing into all these things

Has taken quite a toll

The trouble is, I’ve lost myself

Beneath these endless layers

Under masks and fabrics 

To appease and please naysayers

I fear I don’t know who I AM

Without these great disguises

What if I’ve become someone

Who no one recognizes?

I feel exposed, so incomposed …

Like I’ve suddenly shed all my clothes

Standing here before you now

And wondering if I should bow

And wishing you would tell me How

And Who and What and Where to be

Could someone help me to find ME? 

Lip injections, lash extensions

The things we do for love

Creams and fillers, bad breath killers

Moisturizing gloves

Pumice stones, high-end colognes

Unsightly hair removal

Can you count the many ways

We seek to win approval?

Wigs and plugs

Hair loss swept under rugs

Trying to hide what we hate

Concealers and makeup

We’re still playing dress-up

I wonder if you can relate?

It isn’t just me

Because I clearly see

There are so many people 

Just hiding

We’re afraid to be us

So we’re masking and thus

Our fears show no signs of subsiding

I don’t know the way out

Of a world where we doubt

That we’re good enough

Just as we are

All that I know

Is I’m ready to go

To a place where we’re all up to par

Why do I not love myself?

Who taught me that I shouldn’t?

What taught me that I couldn’t

Or that someone else just wouldn’t?

Why am I so critical 

Of all these flaws I see?

I accept these parts in others

But I judge when they’re in me

How can I be so aware

Of all these tendencies

Yet still succumb to the despair

And insecurities?

When and how will I be freed

From this prison I’ve erected

Where’s the key that unlocks ME

And makes me feel connected?

All these questions swirl within

Hoping they will find

The very perfect answers 

That will give them peace of mind

I think this is a metaphor

Reflecting my obsession

To find the ideal partner

Who will save me from depression

As I write these words, I know

That no one else can save me

There is no perfect person 

Who can slay my fears so bravely

Only I can do for me

The things I seek from others

Only I can truly be

The one who will discover

Who I am and what I need

And how to find my way

To a place of inner peace 

Where darkness turns to day

You see my potential

But I fear I will fail

So sometimes I don’t even start

But the times when I do

I get stuck in review

And viciously pick it apart

I reword each sentence

And stare at the page

Before I reword it again

I erase and replace it

Curse it, then face it—

I need a magical pen!

A pen that can think, as well as spill ink

A pen that need not be corrected

A pen that is sure and not insecure

A pen that is quite self-directed

This magical tool would have endless fuel

And travel to all sorts of places

It would never get lost in the details

Or get buried in commas and spaces

It would be unafraid 

And could never be tamed

It would draw its own path and conclusions

It would bring things to life 

With wit sharp as a knife

While playing with voice and allusions

Tell me, my friend

Where to find such a pen

And I will be there in a flash

But for now, I must wait … 

With my internal debate

About tossing this rhyme in the trash

Does every other person

Have so many thoughts inside?

Zooming at such frightful speeds

Determined to collide

Directing all their focus

To unknowns that lie ahead

Ignoring what’s in front of them 

It’s a wonder they’re not dead 

But they don’t seem to care one bit

If they crash or die

They just keep speeding recklessly

As though they’ve got nine lives 

They’ve got many more in fact

They have endless lives, I’d wager

They rise up from the wreckage

Even when the crash is major

They appear to be immortal

And no matter what I do

I cannot seem to banish them

Or reduce them to a few

What else is there to do

If I cannot make them leave?

I might as well hop on

And ride the thoughts to where they lead

But the trouble with this plan

Is that we’re always on the go

The thoughts don’t ever take a break

Or change their speed to low

Sometimes I get whiplash

And the thoughts can make me dizzy

I don’t remember where I am

The space is way too busy

But it doesn’t seem to matter

If I miss my scheduled train

There will always be another

Passing through my tangled brain

They all end up in the same place

Despite the track they take

At the garbage dump of worries

That are keeping me awake

There is nothing quite as terrifying

As speaking on a stage

Except doing it alone, perhaps

When you’re still shy in middle age

Looking out into the crowd

I’m paralyzed with fear

With every eyeball fixed on me

I wish I could disappear

I don’t know what is scarier

These eyes or empty seats

The fear of being seen and judged

Or dismissed and obsolete?

My ego would feel safer

Swimming with electric eels

Or walking on a tightrope

Wearing 10-inch platform heels

I’ve often thought that I would rather die 

Than give a speech

Only feeling safe in front of

Children that I teach

Little ones tend not to judge

And are easier to please

They don’t assume you’re stupid

When your words don’t come with ease

Although they can be blunt

And have less tact in conversations

Their unfiltered remarks

Are nothing more than observations

Young children simply notice things

And tell you what they see

They’re not being critical

Or trying to be mean

What is it that changes 

By the time we hit eleven?

Or more realistically

By the age of six or seven

What makes adolescents and adults

So disapproving?

With every passing year we grow

Should we not be improving?

I think this world is backwards

And I’d like to make it right

Too bad I’m always frozen

When I’m overcome with fright