“Describe yourself in one word,”

They say to me

Not knowing what lies behind these eyes.

I try to think of something decent as a reply,

Because nobody likes a negative nelly,

And it should be a simple enough prompt,

But when I rack my brain only one word pops up:


Any other person could at least muster

A word such as “funny” or “kind”

And a confident one might even

Find one much more pleasing to the palette.

Inadequate am I.

I cannot even complete this prompt properly.

Last night, as I showered off my makeup

And scrubbed the product out of my hair,

I thought of how I could never be anything.

If I can’t even manage to motivate myself

To get out of bed and pick up after myself,

Or go to a job,

Or attend school… and then go into a job,

Or be responsible in any way possible,

How could I expect to have the things I want?

I can’t have a career that I love,

Or take proper care of my spouse,

Or ever be a mother.

Could you imagine a child living in the filth of my home,

Much less the filth of my mind?

Thinking of that makes me so sad

Yet somehow refuses to motivate.

I am inadequate,

And I do not know if I will ever feel differently,

Because I remember not feeling good enough

Even when achieving A’s and high B’s throughout most of my education,

Or putting my all into after school activities,

And especially not when being the best friend I thought I could be.

Inadequacy is the quicksand which sucks me down further and further

Taking my soul and my life with it.

I am stuck,

And this illness is killing me before my very eyes,

A snake constricting my being as I sink lower and lower.

Inadequate am I, I am inadequate.


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