Almosts

Almosts
I learned early
how to measure myself
in almosts.

Almost good enough,
almost worth the space I take,
almost someone worth staying for.

I shrink in rooms
that never asked me to,
folding my voice into quieter shapes
so no one notices
how much I want to be seen

There’s a mirror in my mind
that never reflects me whole
just fragments,
just flaws,
just reasons to try harder

I build myself
out of expectations
I can never quite reach,
stacking them higher
until I disappear underneath

And still, I try

I try to be softer,
louder,
better,
less.

But less is the only thing
I ever seem to get right.

Some nights
I wonder what it feels like
to arrive somewhere
without apologizing
for being there.

To exist
without the quiet fear
that if anyone look to closely,
they’ll see what I’ve always believed:

That I am made out of missing pieces.

But even the broken things
leave echoes.

Even almost
is still something.
And maybe
just maybe
one day I’ll learn
that I was never unfinished,
just thought to see myself that way