He Likes To Be Called Insecurity Poem by Renee Wangwe

So you think you know insecurity?
You think you can properly define this ten letter word?
Better yet, you think you are the walking visual of this word.
I can one up you; I have inhaled, compelled and lived insecurity from my conception.
It was my pre-destined friend, meant to be by my side, till death do us part.

Insecurity knows me well.
It knows every strand of my hair to the individual tips of my toes.
I have been its case study reincarnated for millennia,
In a never ending tirade of lies and deceit.
And yet you claim to know insecurity?

Every time I came close to a genuine smile,
An honest conversation about self love,
Appreciation for my complexion,
Insecurity steps in to remind me,
I still can't walk out without my shallow lies of make-up.

It's the way insecurity reminds me that I'm never enough.
Never enough for a certain crowd,
For certain people,
Certain places,
Even for myself.
What could be worse?
Insecurity gave me social anxiety.
Because if my complexion isn't enough,
Why should my personality suffice?
It's an odd relationship.
But it works…
Insecurity and I.