Anissa

When my parents tell me And my teachers agree and all my friends join In their praises I can almost believe that I've done enough. Or better yet that I'm good enough but only Almost. When I proudly regurgitate the multitude Of sports of clubs of teams of service, to my community within the allotted lines Of uniform applications For the acceptance of obscure admission officers, I almost feel as though I’ve done enough. When the bone crushing fatigue of the never ending cycle; Eat sleep school practice Eat study school practice eat sleep school practice eat study school Inevitably wear away the signs of my youth At least I know that I’ve done enough, for everyone else. For colleges to admit me For my parents to be proud For my coach to spare an elusive comment of praise And for the adoration of my peers, yet I never feel as though I’ve done enough. Why aren’t I enough? When I hear the praise from my teachers and friends In agreement, With my parents’ firm belief that I am more than enough Somehow I cannot share their satisfaction. I’ve mastered the art of exceeding the expectations of others But mine, Mine are so elusive and impossible to attain That my failed pursuits scream at me that I am not enough. In the face of such contradicting Perceptions I cannot definitively answer Am I good enough yet? Maybe If I let my mask of composure slip just enough to breathe, Just enough for the hidden madness to be exposed and for the succeeding sense of freedom To clear my mind enough. Enough of the clashing perceptions of the doubt For me to know If I’m good enough Yet?