Hooked

As long as
I crave
to be special
I can be
trapped—
captured
by over-sweetened
words
mirages
of “better than”
and imaginings
of “meant
to be”.

As long as
I want
to be perceived
as kind
boundaries
become fragmented
and distorted
partial truths
lodged in my
throat
unable to
say
when
enough is
enough.

As long as
I hope
to be seen
as only beautiful
and talented
whole
worlds
of exploration
and curiosity
fueled by humanness
and imperfection
are cut off
before
they
are
born.

As long as
I am attached
to being received
as loving
responsible
helpful
loyal
smart
attractive
thoughtful
mature
worthy
artistic
perceptive
efficient
logical
creative
insightful
and
important—
as long as
there’s some
idea
of me
I am trying
to uphold
and some idea
of me
I am running from—
I am a marionette
pulled
controlled
and manipulated
by the ever-changing
opinions and favors
of the people
around
me—
a slave
to their limitations
a prisoner
of their insecurities
and an
accomplice
to their
stagnancy.

The loveliest
vision of myself
too tightly
held
now
the weakest point
a web of soft
blind spots
able
to be
hooked.