Imposter

What if they notice?

realize I’m a fraud?

Would they string me up,

send me to my God?
Will they judge me,

lest they be judged back?

The luggage of doubt 

which I carry in my sack.
With age comes experience,

with experience dismay.

I thought I’d get smarter,

but I’ve got nothing to say.
It’s called imposter syndrome,

Or so I understand.

Apparently it gets to us all,

takes us by the hand.
Maybe one day I’ll escape,

Out of its grasp

But for now I’ll keep breathing,

gasp after gasp

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