This Is Me Poem by Ifeoma Aliboh

This isn't poetry, this is me.
This is all my head tells me.
I try to be good enough,
All effort for adaptation,
Getting better for reality.
The right sounds, melodies,
Just good enough to survive.

These people make a perfect blend,
This aromatic scents of confidence and power.
I yearn when I'm good enough,
I'll let this emotions flow,
For the perfect creative I dreamed.
I tried to make merry,
I wanna put smiles on faces,
Let hearts and minds relax and merry,
Chuckle, take breaks and imagine,
See beauty in one's own designs and style.

I'm exhausted but I sometimes admire my past,
These pain somehow brought peace,
But now this isn't perfect, this is me,
These are my mistakes,
So calm, quiet, no stories, jokes or sounds to make your leg tickle.

I, I'm okay.
If I learned to accept myself, I would be
Maybe, exceptional or perhaps good enough.
I'm lying to myself, there is no me,
There is no me, there is adaptation.
I'll just look at them and get loud.
It's fun, I won't lie. I do a replay in my head,
Dancing to my public isolation,
Born social.

You know if I try and be like them, singing, dancing or possibly creating robotics,
Make science drive innovation and be special.
I just need to look, learn and act like them, after all, I enjoy it.'