What if they notice?
realize I’m a fraud?
Would they string me up,
send me to my God?
Will they judge me,
lest they be judged back?
The luggage of doubt
which I carry in my sack.
With age comes experience,
with experience dismay.
I thought I’d get smarter,
but I’ve got nothing to say.
It’s called imposter syndrome,
Or so I understand.
Apparently it gets to us all,
takes us by the hand.
Maybe one day I’ll escape,
Out of its grasp
But for now I’ll keep breathing,