Whenever I sit down to write a poem
I am overcome with the feeling that I need to be deep.
I need to sound like I’m a scholar,
Skipping stones between lectures,
Never without a pen in hand,
And a quote about philosophy on the tip of my tongue.

I feel like I need to be speaking in metaphors.
Or talking about nature,
Or how blue is such a calming, yet equally expressive hue.
I am frantically flipping through thesauruses,
Looking for words my audience has never heard before
But are sure to be impressed by nonetheless.

But I’m not that scholarly or worldly.
Here is the truth:
I can’t fall asleep without nightlights and stuffed animals.
I have trouble speaking without stuttering.
My favorite psychologist is Albert Bandura,
And I’ve written essays about him for fun.

The truth is that I don’t know how to write a poem.
Syllables, similes, allusions, and assonance-
I don’t know what to do with any of it.
I just write what comes to mind,
Get frustrated and delete that,
And write what I feel a true poet would write.

This could perhaps be read as a metaphor for my life.
I have my own thoughts and feelings,
But ignore them in favor of what I know
What people really want to hear from me.
I’m not deep,
But I’m afraid to let others know that.