All my selfies look tentative
I think I'm fine but the fine lines of not daring to hope poke through
wobbly smile, cautious eyes, shrinking chin
a face within a face, a shroud
not me, surely not the god that I am
staring back from this weak place of shame
not proud, not strong, not well, after all, not okay
on the edge, teeter totter
day after day treading water wasting space
trying to live
like I matter at all.
