She rises unaware of whom she will deceive,
A perfect mixture of truth and make believe.
She hides in words well-crafted and sincere
And hopes no one notices she reeks of fear.
Fear of discovery; fear of ridicule.
Fear of being unimportant and miniscule.
It’s not that she means to be someone she’s not.
She believes herself perpetually fraught
With never being good enough or interesting enough
To have her words considered more than fluff.
She writes by day, and dreams by night
Of being remembered; of stepping into the light.
She rises unaware of whom she will deceive,
A perfect mixture of truth and make believe.
She looks in the mirror never satisfied
The image inside matches the person outside.
The imposter survives by never admitting
Self-doubt is the enemy that keeps her from winning.