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Everything feels like nothing, and nothing starts to feel like everything.

Everyday. Everyday as I wake up,

Nothing ever beats the feeling of inadequacy.

Inadequacy to do good
Inadequacy as a daughter
Inadequacy as a student
Inadequacy as a person
Inadequacy in feeling good within my own body
Inadequacy from feeling good about myself.

Everyday feels like an endless loop, you best believe my misery hunts me.

But what is inadequacy?

Is it scarcity? Deficiency? Insufficiency? A lack thereof?

Is it this mindless blob, formless and dark or a mangled form of flesh, eating away at you and your insecurities?

Like a virus, it pins you, goes deep inside you and there is never enough antibiotic for you...

This inadequacy keeps me up at ungodly hours where the sun howls and moon chirps, the clouds look at us, feigning interest, idly looking but never interacting.

This inadequacy lulls me in irregular fever dreams where comfort lies in solitude and loneliness,
where the people that surround you, cover their ears, bites their cheek, looks forwards, smiles faintly, but never tries to understanding.

My heart wails for the smallest of things. Nothing, nothing becomes everything.

My successes make me feel less, still. Everything, everything becomes nothing.

I am this inadequate thing, floating around, never seeming to be enough.

Inadequate. Because i could not protect myself from those who touch my skin like its free real estate, those clammy hands holding me in a state
A state of frenzy that never seems to end

Inadequate. That no matter what I do, my past will forever haunt me and define the being I am now that no matter how much I change, and try and try and try to do good, it will never be
enough.

And those same voices, those same people, they say they scream they tell me,
“You should have told me.”
“You should have fought back.”
“You are a waste of time.”
“You are dumb.”
“You are nothing.”
“You waste your talents for something as this,”

And those same people, let go of words
That back then would have meant nothing
But now it seems to be everything
It becomes my identity
It becomes my oxygen
It becomes the blood that circulates in my body
It becomes the endorphins in my brain

Nothing becomes everything. And everything that I’ve tried to change, worked hard to achieve, tried to mend, was sorry for, starts to become nothing.



But I am tired of feeling like nothing. That everything I do is always inadequate. That it is some form of scarcity, deficiency, insufficiency, a lack thereof.

These mindless blobs, or mangled forms of flesh,

Like a virus, it pins me, goes deep inside me and there is never enough antibiotic for me...

Because instead of listening, to understand, to empathize, they listen so they can jeopardize...
Whatever love is left that I could give to myself,
Without a shred of doubt,
In a warm, bright embrace for myself, in a corner slouched.



So, I ask these voices, who are only here to remind how inadequate I am:
How do I fight back?
How do I be good enough?
How do I become less dumb?
How do I make nothing stay as nothing? And appreciate everything as everything?

Because day by day, this inadequacy I feel, gets really tiring.
• December 13, 2019 | 12 PM

This was my audition piece for a competition I auditioned for that unfortunately did not push through because of the pandemic. In my journey with poetry, I want to continue to hone my form and create something that is true to me but also mirrors the lives of others and that we may be able to share a sense of empathy for one another's struggles.
newpoetica Jun 22
three inches --
that's how far away you are from a corset that cinches.

so close, yet so far...
you aren't up to standards, you aren't up to par.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder --
hell, you'll be even more grotesque as you get older.

words cut deeply from those you care for...
i'm sorry that i can't be your perfect little *****.
sorry my poetry has been so negative lately.
Colm Sep 2019
Someday, they'll burry my grave, long after the ink and parchment have faded.

Long after my thoughts have longsince passed into the undying lands.

I just hope that my neices don't have to burry me

Which is why now I search for a new family.
Inadequate Search
Wyatt Jun 2019
She’s feeling inadequate,
insecure about her body.
She spends her allowance on
makeup and name-brand clothes.
She practices poses, specific ways
to flaunt her body for the boys
who are watching her every move.
She begins rigorous diets
to drop a bunch of weight
she doesn't have to lose.
She spends countless time
perfecting a look, a personality,
mastering a life they will accept.
This girl's even talking differently,
telling them what they want to hear.
She looked like she was
right out of a magazine,
and all this work for what exactly?
For the boy that steps in
to toy with her faint heart,
shattering it in the process?
She sacrifices her own wants daily
for people who shouldn't have a say
and I hate to see that happen
because this girl was much more beautiful
in the beginning before she tried to change.
This one is inspired by someone I once knew. I saw her change herself slowly over time, desperately trying to match the expectations that can be wrongfully placed on a lot of young women today. At first it was empowering to see the reactions others had, but eventually she came to the realization that she was never truly making these changes for herself. She was changing for all of the people around her, afraid of rejection or being isolated from the crowd. I feel this is an important message for every single one of us, but I know it hits home for plenty of women out there. Don't alter yourself or change yourself to match the expectations people have forced onto you. Don't feel obligated to put your own feelings aside to cater to anyone else's opinion of you. Do what makes YOU happy inside and most importantly, learn to love yourself for who you really are inside. You are the most beautiful when you are you and I hope you know that. Much love to all of you and thank you for reading.
toleomato Feb 2019
I am justly inadequate
no one knows my name
the strangers I pass by
all treat me just the same.
They never ask about my day
or if I feel okay,
we all look on in silence
repeating yesterday.

I am justly inadequate
I work hard to be not enough
my conscience is never heavy
but my heart isn't up to *****.
My hands are warm and loving,
callused, hard and rough,
a willing heart without a reason
just never has been enough.

I am justly inadequate
I stare out windows thinking that
if I could just be someone else
then I would get a chance
to be the man I could have been
but as I am, I know I can't.

I am justly inadequate
no one knows my name.
And every time I try to laugh
I can only muster shame.
I try to smile,
once in a while,
to trick the gloom away,
but I still know that I am
inadequate any day.
toleomato Feb 2019
It was never my fear that, upon first seeing me,
She would deem me inadequate and reject me entirely right there and then.
It was the coming thunder,
When formalities are finished and our feelings are confirmed,
Where she thinks herself content with my company,
That shook me to my foundation with anxiety.
I cannot help but think,
That even in contentment,
A seed of doubt may find fertile soil in her heart,
And sprout a sudden longing,
A quiet panging,
Which reverberates through the days that grow longer and longer in length,
With each echo leaving a more and more profound impression.
And when this panging starts to get louder,
Until it is akin to church bells in her heart,
It will rouse her from her sleep-like state of contentment,
And have her find that something feels a bit off.
At first, she will not be able to put her finger on it,
But slowly she figures it out;
My images of her set in marble turn into plastic,
Lines of poetry begin to smudge as if written in cheap ink,
Letters begin to fox with its yellowing paper feeling dated to the touch.
And she suddenly realizes in the midst of others,
That this is not enough for happiness.
And then, by chance,
She misplaces a single glance,
Only to find something new
Something beyond contentment and I.
The skies begin to darken and grey storm clouds roll in,
And the thunder strikes,

Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnt­hunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk
Perkodhuskurunbargg­ruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifaititill­ibumullunukkunun

This, I fear above all else.
A R Fitz-Gerald Jan 2019
I had always imagined your heart to be tiny,
Small like a hummingbird's.

Not because you were incapable of love,
But because you had the capacity for so much of it.

It fluttered at the briefest of glances
And jumped at the slightest of touches.

So fast did your heart beat that I had often mistaken you for dead
When I would wrap my hands around your throat.

You ran and you called and you pleaded
But no one could hear your little heart.

Even as it stuttered frantically
Against your rib cage, brittle as paper.

No one wants to love a quiet heart.

And so I took it and strung it on a chain of gold
So it could sit silently atop my own heart.
This is my very first posted poem. Please be kind.

Permission to use with credit
Philomena Jan 2019
Her
Well what can I say
I'm not her
I don't have her warm eyes
Her thin waist
Her cute laugh
Her smart brain
I'm not perfect like her
I'm not even close
I lack her sense of peace
And her immense love
I don't dream like her
See like her
I will never be like her
What more can I say
I'll never be beautiful or perfect
Never see clear or pure
I've ruined my chances of happiness in this world
And how can I blame you
She dances in the light
And I dwell here in darkness out of sight
She is all that is good and right in this world
And I'm all you should fear
So go ahead
Get out of here
I suppose I'm just frustrated. But can you really blame me, I'm the daughter of a monster and nothing can erase that path I've followed. So no I'll never be anything quite like her.
Chris Jones Oct 2018
There's a feeling at the back of my mind and gut.
Running in place creating my own rut.
I reach out but it's just not enough.
All my aspirations gone in a puff.
To say it's a deep dark pit is unjust.
It's a weight filling my empty husk.
Failed expectations and dreams.
What does any of this even mean.
I run down a path that I make up as I go.
Uncertainty is the only real lover I know.
"Do xyz and your hopes will unfold".
My, what a lie we've all been sold.
Rose Brown Oct 2018
Hating you both would be easier than acting like I just don’t care.
I don’t think breaking down would change your mind, even if I cried until tears drowned us, and you would still look at me in disgust.
It’s all I want to do though.

Hearing her name reminds me how little I am compared to her, how much more she glows.
I don’t have humour like she always has.
I’m not as tall or as appealing.
I am just an embodiment of discontent, never happy with less than a victory.
I will be in your way, until I can’t see the beauty in your eyes.

I should hate you for more reasons, for being my ruin and yet never having to look god in the eye for what you did.
I cannot. I never could.

I don’t even want to kiss you.
I just want your body holding mine.
I just want your body holding mine.
I don’t even want to kiss you.
I just want your body holding mine.

If I was allowed to scream, I would.

But I made no promises.
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