incidentals

i hate being embarrassed
but it’s not just being embarrassed
it’s being wrong
but not just wrong
it’s being scorned
dismissed
i hate failure
tell myself that mistakes don’t matter
but oh, they do
you are no longer loved
because that love–all love
is conditional
you have to fit molds
so i squirm inside
knowing that my freedom is more important
and i will be embarrassed
ashamed
but i will never not find myself
everyone is flawed
so i love everyone
about equal
was not my idea
there is the me and the not me
i like to find the best way
i had lots of jobs
because i tried the next
and the next
sampling them all
it wasn’t discontent
it was completion
i get this fear way deep
down in my heart and belly
mostly a fear that flushes the face
a knowing of mistake
that i missed something
nobody knows how much i miss
how much my brain won’t process

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