Inadequate- Original Poetry

Another depressing poem for you guys.... sorry not sorry. This one was written pretty recently and I just thought I'd post it- raw and unedited. I'm not one for sharing my feelings but I can channel everything into poetry fairly easily and it helps me get everything out in a way that doesn't involve torrential crying and unloading my sob stories on people. It's my therapy, in a way.

Inadequate

inadequate
chasing what i long to be
wondering what's wrong with me

the last jar on the shelf
withered and empty
untouched, unwanted
suffocating with envy

glass that's stained too much to see through
lungs too swollen
unable to breathe through

numbers that won't add up to a healthy equation
jumbled with questions that feel like evasion
a shape that doesn't connect with a line at the end
division with no one to share, not one friend

left behind while the runners start the race
rearranging the muscles on my face
to show a pretty smile no one can see past,
hiding the fact that I always finish last
if at all
a fall-
cutting off my chances completely
categorising failures neatly
terrorising my life discreetly

but no one sees
even i don't see
as the hopelessness creeps in
claiming the win
aiming arrows at my heart
to ensure it's still there
beating
retreating
like all the gazes that skim over mine
slicing and trimming me apart
reorganising the pieces into dull, lifeless art
and deciding that the image
isn't worth it
after all

i try to project the colours,
the shapes people want,
adjusting myself to the strokes and patterns
that catch someone's eye
but
then i realise

i don't belong in a jar on a shelf
can't consider myself a mathematician
or an athlete at that
and as far as i can recall
art has never meant much to me at all

but i'm still inadequate
that i know for sure
because what i am
is a writer
content with deliberating words and tearing them apart
to see how they work

and with every conclusion
comes collateral damage
and with every delusion
comes truths too ugly to manage

so inadequate has a solid fit
clinging to skin with flawless ease
like fate handed the phrase to me at birth
counting down the days till i reached my worth

inadequate
chasing what i long to be
wondering what's wrong with me

-Chloe Harris, October 2017

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment your thought. Stay amazing!
Chloe