The Ideal Woman

A poem.

I bring my worries with me,
luggage stacked all around –
clothes peeking out of the cracks.
The ideal woman has no luggage –
only the sort to be whisked away,
clothes neatly packed — of course.

I wear mistakes on my sleeves disarrayed,
fraying at the seams.
The ideal woman is prim and polished,
never flinching at haunting words –
as her heart is easy to give away.

I look in the mirror
and quickly look away.
The ideal woman doesn’t need
a mirror.

I trip on my words and can’t hold a gaze.
The ideal woman commands
a conversation and the audience
can’t stray.

Should I try to be this ideal woman?
They say “fake it till you make it”
but isn’t that just fake?

Photo by averie woodard on Unsplash

Self Confidence

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