To the teacher who was honest with me today,
First time I feel something I do is good enough for me, and it ended up not being good enough for you.
Ironic, right?
You finished speaking, and I stayed still. You thought I was mad at you.
I wasn't.
I was mad at myself, because I could feel a weight in my chest, making it hard to walk as I went to sit back in my chair.
And even though I felt heavier than usual, the same voice of always was there, at the front of my mind,
sneering,
you're a failure, you're a failure, you're a failure.
YOU ARE READING
dedications
Poetrya collection of thoughts inspired by the people who have made me – whoever that is – possible.
