Imposter Syndrome

I walk into rooms

and wonder how long it’ll take

before someone realizes

I don’t belong here.

My smile feels staged,

my confidence borrowed,

my voice a shaky echo

of someone I wish I were.

They say I’m strong,

capable,

brave—

but all I hear is the doubt

scratching at the back of my mind,

whispering that I’m faking it,

fooling them,

lucky more than worthy.

I carry praise like it’s fragile,

like it might shatter

the moment I look at it too closely.

Every compliment feels like a mistake

with my name on it.

And yet—

I keep showing up,

heart pounding,

hands trembling,

hoping no one sees

the cracks beneath my skin.

Maybe I’m not an imposter at all…

maybe I’m just someone

who’s been fighting so long

I forgot what it feels like

to trust myself.

Maybe the real fraud

is the voice that tells me

I’m not enough.