I am humble,
but I say this with modesty so adamant, fierce.
And when I am important one day,
and everyone of you who doubted me,
who called me stuck,
or called me useless,
or was convinced that it was impossible for me to be anything…
My presence will creep behind you.
and I will never say “I told you so.”
Your eyes will peel back
to moments when your critical glare
stomped me down.
or when your barbed words
cut into me, like samurai swords
or your thoughts, so personified
snatched me by the throat and laughed.
and I will tower, my weightless body turn giant
will lift you up and I will stare.
With harsh modesty, my stare will shrink you
and I will never say “I told you so”
But my comeback will ruffle
waves, it will bite the air.
Shadows, small and glinting
will reach back in memory,
reminders that will spark past
and every misconception or abrasive thought
will mirror a red face, with red eyes, and
and red tears.
my extinct image
will stand before you.
and I will never say I told you so.
My humility outgrew you ages ago,
my fragile frame now a mighty hurricane
will never smack you with degradation
and rip the confidence,
or pluck your certainty or morale.
but the person who you once renounced,
who you groused
will be you, outlined in this mirror, forced
to stare and mock yourself,
and you will mock so adamantly, so fiercely
that you’ll split and break.
— Cam Ie