The Enduring Creative
A poem by Nickie || May 20, 2026
My therapist wants me to
work on showing up as my
authentic self.
But how do I break it
to her that I've tried that
and it doesn't work?
Too loud.
Try hard.
Doing too much.
Doing too much.
For others
see what I want them to see.
I have a never-ending
closet of masks.
I'm always ready for the role.
My therapist says
I work too hard
to control an outcome.
I fawn too frequently
in hopes of keeping others happy.
A foreign concept.
I don't hear what comes after.
I'm too busy mentally sketching
my response.
I'm a commissioned artist of
favorable reactions and responses.
My therapist says
I worry too much about
pleasing others,
as I brag about being malleable,
a lump of clay able to mold
myself into who they want me to be.
She describes my one strength as a
weakness.
Yes, of course I want others to like me.
Without others,
It's just me.
Suppressed authenticity.
An artisan who's lost herself
to her craft.
So instead I smile,
nod my head,
and welcome her to my gallery.
