Inadequacy. My middle name.

It follows me everywhere I go

Hides in every nook and cranny

Waiting for me to return.

 

It digs into my soul

Holds tight and numbs my insides like a slow poison.

As I go numb, I can’t trace the cause.

I rack my brain for why, but no answer.

 

I can’t escape it. It seems to reinforce itself in everything I do.

It’s hard to fight off.

First I see it in my relationships

Then my friendships

My fashion sense

My conversation skills.

 

I am secure in the intellectual matters.

I am inadequate in my social skills.

 

It always comes back to this.

The very thing I want, I can’t seem to hold onto.

My opportunities slip through my fingers like soap bars in the shower.

Or maybe I never had it. How can you lose something you never had.

You don’t. I didn’t.

 

Does it make me inadequate if I have standards.

Does it make me inadequate if I don’t dress a certain way.

Does it make me inadequate if I don’t wear makeup.

Pretty hurts.

 

It hurts that despite everything else about me, my worth is based on my physical appearances.

There’s always that one friend that commands the attention of many.

I don’t have a problem standing in the shadows.

I just wish I could get some crumbs.

I can’t even get scraps.

 

Be yourself they say.

Don’t change for anyone they say.

You’re beautiful they say.

Can they tell me why it’s done nothing for me so far.

Can they tell me why that’s just not good enough.

Don’t they know that in this culture that I’m not good enough.

Don’t they know what that’s called.

Inadequacy.