a note for the diminished

I am a writer until I am among poets,
an artist until I am surrounded by others with the same name,
and my colors fade,
my pride slipping as the lines I so carefully crafted unravel.
I am a musician
until the songs my fingers know can be counted in the spaces between them,
until my voice gets caught up in mediocrity,
until the sheet music has been waiting since January, and it’s running out of forgiveness.
I am a woman
until I am only sixteen
and growing up means cashing in all of the decisions I never made,
dancing across a dark stage,
cradling what I was and what I don’t know I want to be,
means falling and falling and falling and falling
and trusting that my body will find a net.

I am diminished until I am the poet,
the artist,
the musician,
the woman.
I am diminished until I wonder about you.
As I confine myself to your shadows, is anyone lost in mine?
Please know:
you don’t need to feel diminished
standing next to me.