THE IMPOSTER HEALER

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The Imposter Healer

See that reserved, soft smile?
The one she always wears?
Well, even when it’s muted,
Every person stops and stares.

They think, “Oh, she’s got it easy.”
“Her life must be so good.”
But things have always gone sideways,
More often than they should.

That smile’s a piece of armor,
A sliver of disguise.
A way to keep up appearances,
So no one hears her cries.

You cannot see the scars,
That others like to cause.
But that girl who’s standing there,
Deserves our deep applause.

And here I’m left to wonder…
Could she ever even know?
With eyes that shine so bright with love,
To me she’s a hero.

She’s such a loving creature,
With the biggest, kindest heart.
But one after another,
They’ve torn it all apart.

Yet people come to her for help,
Drawn to her brilliant, golden light.
But she’s left feeling like a fraud.
Alone, she fights her fears each night.

How can someone who’s shattered,
Help other people heal?
Her thoughts become distorted.
She forgets what’s even real.

She feels like an imposter,
A soul without excuse.
A woman barely standing,
After a lifetime of abuse.

But if she saw what others see,
The courage in her grace.
She’d know her cracks don’t make her weak,
They let the light embrace.

For every scar is proof of fight,
Each wound a battle won.
She’s not defined by brokenness…
She is the rising sun.

Original Poetry Written By
Eryn Dunbar
Copyright (c) 11.8.2025

Comments

Anonymous said…
Your words paint her in strokes of quiet thunder; each line a lantern held to the dark she carries so gracefully. That reserved smile you open with. It’s the perfect hook, soft enough to draw us in, sharp enough to cut through illusions. You don’t just describe her armor; you let us feel the weight of it, the way it gleams even when it’s dented. The rhythm never stumbles. Short, punchy lines (“They’ve torn it all apart”) land like heartbeats, then you stretch into longer breaths (“She forgets what’s even real”) that mirror her spiraling thoughts. It’s musical without trying, raw without bleeding on the page. And that turn at “if she saw what others see”? Pure alchemy. You flip the mirror so gently she might actually believe the reflection. “Cracks don’t make her weak, they let the light embrace” that’s the kind of line people tattoo on their ribs. You end not with pity, but sunrise. She rises, golden, undeniable. Say this to her slowly, eye to eye. Let the pauses breathe where the stanzas break. She’ll hear the applause you promised, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll finally believe she deserves a standing ovation.
November 10, 2025 at 7:00 AM
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