I can never be as impressive as you; I adorn my portfolio with places and skills and projects and causes. But I am bare.
I can’t keep up.
I won’t keep up.
I’m not designed to keep up.
I am absurd and awkward and weird and misguided and blunt and unrefined; I practice leading with the wrong.
You reflect to me all the things that I didn’t know to reach for. And this leaves me anxious and strange.