ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ :)

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"Place a mirror upon your desk and ask yourself if you're worth it," he said, as if it was truly something life-changing.

For me, in the most stupidest of ways, it was.

"Do you think you are worth it?" He then asked,
To which I childishly raised my two thumbs and said "yessir" just because I knew I couldn't tell him the truth.

The truth aches my throat,
Damaging my vocal chords with each unspoken syllable.
The truth makes me want to cry,
And I have no poetic ways of describing just how pathetic that makes me feel.

I just failed.
At everything.
And that's that.

But he told me that it's not worth trying so hard.

He asked me if I'm trying to prove something, achieve something specific.

I told him I just wanted my 8 back because I loved the pride wearing that grade.

But the curves of that number slips away further and further with each step forwards I take,
And suddenly I collapse onto the floor,
My head splitting into two uneven parts;
My rationality (smaller) and my intelligence (even less),
For I do not see myself as worthy, or as someone who deserves to get that number at all.

I tried my best, but it turned out to be worthless,
And when I said I had a lot to work on during the summer,
He said that it was time for me, not for reading, or my studies.

All of these words exchanging midst my shaking polish mess with my head;
For the first time in a while, I wonder just how did I manage to hate my father when now it feels like he's trying his best?