Writers 
Voices in the room
I walk in a room and make myself small,
Everyone else seems confident,
While I keep wondering who I am.
The mirror doesn't show who I am,
It shows flaws I know I have,
An experience not loud enough, a grade not a distinction,
A flaw I wish I were beyond.
But what if small is not my size,
But just the way I've learned to hide?
What if confidence is also scared,
Just better at pretending it's prepared?
What if the flaw is not a flaw at all,
But just a crack where light can fall?
What if a mistake means trying?
What if not-distinction still means done,
Still means I tried, still means I won?
I am not the grade, I am the grind,
Not just the flaw, but the whole mind.
And maybe who I am is not yet clear,
Because I'm still becoming, year by year.
And becoming is enough
And enough is not giving up,
It is growing without hurry.
I don't need to be louder than others,
I just need to be true.
So I will walk in the next room,
A little taller, a little softer,
Still learning, still trying, still here.
