elegant
walks like she is being judged
turns around
expecting a crowd

the occasional humble
she does not stumble
societies opinion
fear of demoralisation

she could be herself
but she tries to be
someone else

I long to know what I'm up against,
my competition,
those who will win silver cups
and
accolades

while I sit longingly
and
wait

those whose words will find
the ordered spaces
of a published piece
and
fall in place
as if meant to be.

At the selling table
I exchange dollars
for a glimpse
into their thoughts.

What I see does not
surprise me,
confirming
what I knew already.

Their words caress
the page
and
make it smile.

Their screams slash it
and
make a gaping hole
through which
pour their souls.

Sounding weak
and
foolish,
my own words
echo
in my head.

I want to take them back,
embarrassed
that I ever set them down
and
gave them to be judged.

What if I tell you I'm not too good for you?
And I see you not being so pleased to know me
But I say it's okay to be that way, sometimes
And what if I tell you there's no need to make the words rhyme
Translate your feelings into words; call it a poem
Because that is the only way to relief, sometimes
Heart that beats in our chests is not so different, you see
What if I tell you, it's your eyes that become blind, sometimes
Don't  appraise  my emotions, try to be  kind
What if I tell you, it's okay not to be the judge,  sometimes.

hearts and minds have become televised
we give every part of us for the world to
see and judge, because we crave attention
and criticism more than ever, just so we
can hold a grudge, like fudge
when have we ever
seen a society more damaged
than our own?