Imposter by Rae Iolene

Imposter 

If there’s anything I learned about imposter syndrome it’s that it’s worse in the dark. It’s some entity lurking in shadowed corners, basking in the streetlight beaming through the attic window. It’s the drip drip drip of a loose faucet. The imposter is a mirror in every drop. It’s the shadow on the floor, waving a hand, jumping up and down, lazily demanding, Eat the black licorice. Eat it. I say, Go back to Wonderland. It laughs, bumping the dresser. I watch as the candy drops to the floor. The fog rolls across the street like cigarette smoke. I wonder what’s on the other side, as it says, Me. It’s me. 

xx. Rae Iolene

6 April 2026