Paper Wings

a poem

Please don't offer me compliments,

My heart cannot take that type of kindness

When it believes I am unworthy of it.

To be told such things as,

“You're awesome,”

“You're a great person,”

“You're pretty,”

“You're funny,”

“You're fuckin rad,”

All of those things make me feel like

I need to hide,

Because my shame knows the truth:

I am none of those things.

I'm an imposter.

I'm a fraud.

I'm an illusion designed by my own creativity.

There is nothing of substance here,

Just an empty sack of words strung together

To make you believe I'm deep

And thoughtful

And insightful.

None of that is true,

You know it as well as I.

And yet you keep returning,

Offering me such beautiful, hideous lies

That make my heart soar on brittle, paper wings

While in your hand is a torch,

Waiting to set them on fire

Just to watch me fall.

-kris johnston

Photo by Ludovic Delot on Pexels