Written on January 22nd, 2017
and I don’t tell anyone
that I still cry myself to sleep sometimes
because I know I’m supposed to be better now
I’m too young to be broken and I’m not damaged goods
but if this isn’t pain, then what is it?
I chase perfection every waking moment
as if arbitrary success can fill the holes I feel in my heart
but when no one is watching, my hand doesn’t naturally take finance notes
it scrawls out poetry and bitterness and confusion
and I know my worth, and
I know I am not useless but
that doesn’t stop the fear from rising up to control me
what if no one ever loves me with the depth that I love them
or worse, what if they do
and I don’t see it?