inkling

sixteen

It screams at me from my reflection and cloaks me when I stand.

It lies in my mind as day slips into night, growing louder with the darkness.

It kills words on my lips, tugs sleeves over my hands, reverses my footsteps.

A clawing whisper in my head, a film pressed over my eyes, a nervous tapping of fingers and biting of lips and push of hair.

A constant. A steady pulse, a frantic river.

Reminding me that I'm just not quite good enough.