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Scarecrow
You can still see it there, sometimes - a silhouette
outlined by the moonlight, a rustic tale to tell your
children: "Mommy, what is that right there?" "It's
a scarecrow, my sweet, once used by the farmers
to frighten the crows that would peck, peck, peck
at their crops."
You can still see it there, an imitation of a man
with stuffing for blood and cloth for skin.
A pretense, a disguise, a costume to mask inanimate
stuffing behind a facade of ferocity.
Have you ever thought about how it must feel?
Does it hope for a golden path to animate its lifeless
legs, its flimsy face?
Does it hope for a wizard to grant it a brain?
Does it hope to one day be more than a fraud,
match on the inside what it is on the out?
Does it think to itself that it is not enough?
Not fearsome enough, not ferocious enough?
Not substantial enough, not smart enough?
Not human enough?
Not real enough?
Not enough enough?
For if it were truly enough, why would it
still be there? Why would the crows return
day after day if it had truly frightened them off?
Why would it be a prisoner in a farm,
crucified on a wooden plank, left
day after day, night after night, to repeat the
same, monotone task after failing it the day before?
Whatever the case,
you can still see it there, an imitation of a man
with stuffing for blood and cloth for skin.
A pretense, a disguise, a costume to mask inanimate
stuffing behind a facade of ferocity -
You can still see me there, an imitation of a girl
with straw for brains and lies for reputation.
A pretense, a disguise, a costume to mask my
mangled thoughts behind a facade of sagacity,
pretending to be more than the fool I am.
A fraud. A fake.
An impostor. A humbug.
And I'm surrounded by crows.
Scavengers, hunting for their next meal.
Pecking at my every flaw.
You can still see me there, for I am the Scarecrow,
and I'm sitting on pins and needles trying to figure out what it means
to have substance.
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A poem about my struggles with insecurity and impostor syndrome, inspired greatly by L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Can you catch the references I've incorporated into the poem?