not in this house
with its chandelier glow,
its velvet quiet,
its rooms I’ll never know.
heat like a secret,
counted coins
like prayers.
of riches spill around me—
too much food, too much space,
too many suits tailored to
someone I don’t always recognize.
a confidence game,
but I still flinch
at the ghost
of unpaid bills,
will forever cut coupons
out of habit,
scoop up pennies
in the street,

over candlelit steaks,
but I know what it
means to walk carefully,
as if the ground might
give way at any step.
for the cameras,
sign my name
with a practiced hand,
laugh in all the right places—
as if I belong, as if I believe.
hush between
these heartbeats,
I wonder if the
house knows the truth,
if the mirrors
will ever whisper
my real name.
Be well and make the most of this day.
ABOUT THIS POEM: Imposter Syndrome—an unwelcome companion to anyone who has climbed higher, built from nothing, or dared to dream beyond their beginnings. I once thought that true belonging was reserved for those born into abundance, that without it, you’d always feel like an outsider. But life has revealed a deeper truth: in the secret chambers of our hearts, no one ever feels they truly belong. Life itself is a grand performance, a confidence game we all, consciously or unconsciously take part in. With time, I’ve come to understand and respect Shakespeare’s words more than ever:
"All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players."
In the end, we can accomplish anything—if only we believe we can.
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Poetry should move us, it should change us, it should glitch our brains, shift our moods to another frequency. Poetry should evoke feelings of melancholy, whimsy, it should remind us what it feels like to be in love, or cause us to think about something in a completely different way. I view poetry, and all art really, as a temporary and fragile bridge between our world and a more pure and refined one. This is a world we could bring into creation if enough of us believed in it. This book is ephemera, destined to end up forgotten, lingering on some dusty shelf or tucked away in a dark attic. Yet the words, they will live on in memory. I hope these words become a part of you, bubble up into your memory when you least expect them to and make you feel a little more alive.
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So beautiful and touching poem, Eric!
"if the mirrors
will ever whisper
my real name" this words touched me. Sometimes it happens I feel myself an imposter, it's something I have to think about it. ❤️
Thank you Silvia! I've struggled with it myself, especially when I started first experiencing success. I will never lose the wonder and gratitude of the turn my life has taken. I think that gratitude of being able to do what you love in itself is a pretty amazing gift.
I agree with you, it's really a pretty amazing gift! ❤️
It's the best part. : )
This is a very good poem, Eric. Perfect, I would say. From the first lines you feel the strength, the dilemma of the lyrical voice. If you hadn't talked about the Impostor Syndrome, I would have thought you were talking about anyone, yourself, anyone who might feel they don't belong in certain places or the idea of the mirror: that other looking back at me, it's not me. I think that many times we have felt like the lyrical speaker of this poem: we are others according to the spaces, a kind of social chameleon that mimics the environment. I hug you, my friend, and I hope you are enjoying the weather.
Thank you Nancy! I appreciate the kind words. I was mainly thinking of my own struggles as I was writing this but made some edits towards the end to make it a little more ubiquitous. I feel like some people are just a little better than others at hiding their own insecurities. The great thing is, as we age and gain more experience, confidence gets easier to muster. The warmth is amazing but I know winter isn't quite over yet. : )
Another beautiful artwork for a legend, wow what a poem. That feeling of never fully belonging, even when you've made it is so real. The line about the mirrors whispering the truth is a real as it gets. Success doesn’t erase old struggles, it just hides them a bit better
Thanks! You're right—old struggles leave permanent scars!
you're welcome, you're so good at the poems
Not that this mind-boggling thing's ever fair, but if it were, if it followed rules, you'd have no business with those who don't deserve to be where they are. Obviously, it doesn't work quite so easily. :)
Beautiful, real writing. Like all of them. The ending (maybe with the fancy imagery that goes before) made me think of Dorian Gray for some reason. And put me in mind of this song, also
Thank you for that! That song is so perfect I had to add it to my music library. It encapsulated everything I was feeling when I wrote this poem. Interesting correlation with, The Picture of Dorian Gray! Can you imagine the stir that caused when it was originally published? I can see how success, once achieved, makes a person wish for immortality. The thought of beginning again (if we believe in reincarnation) is daunting but maybe the adventure of it all is in large part the most important thing.
I had a feeling you might like it - I'm glad :) I've no idea why that book came to mind. Guess chasing after the wrong things which can be the right things in the appropriate measure (surely, a little bit of appreciation, success, fame, money, and so on, isn't all bad).
Don't think i'd like to be in that sort of stasis though. To know you could never just begin again or go a different way or find something new sounds quite painful...
True! To be stagnant and not evolving in some way isn't really living.
I feel like those first couple stanzas could be the opening verse to a song. Nicely done! I think the title of your next book should be called "Poems for the Apocalypse".
Now that you mention it, it kind of does! Maybe country? Thank you! Oh, that would be a great title.
Amazing poem , nice to read
Thank you!
Very interesting poem. How are you my brother.
Thanks! All is well on this end. Spring is almost here in this part of the world. How are you?