My fists are too often clenched around doubt.
My hear is too often weighted down with my own distrust.
My head so often fixates on worries I’ve whispered.
And my own imagination provides fertile ground
For those damn whispers to grow into shouts.
But amid this internal chaos
That I find myself wading through everyday —
Writing about in an attempt to make sense of it,
To explain how overanalyzing can be okay —
I present an organized portfolio of order,
Of damn right professionalism and polish,
To the world that looks from the outside in.
I speak with just enough confidence
To hide the whirlwind of self-scrutiny that encompasses
Every presentation, every document, every word I say.
And so perhaps I lay out these raw letters
For you all now to see
In an attempt to help me make sense of who I pretend to be.
–Written by Sandy Heights