Under Pressure

Sometimes I think I'm not good enough.

Sometimes I know it for a fact.

Sometimes I can stare the world 'til it backs down,

Sometimes the opposite enacts.

Somehow, I never seem to fit in,

Not Texas, Georgia, or Memphis, TN.

They hate my short hair,

They despise all my scars,

Whether they inside or out,

Doesn't matter where they are.

I want to fit in, be liked, be valid,

But not to conform, be thin and eat salad.

Please, don't spare my feelings, I so wish to see,

What can stop these pressures from killing me.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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