Life is messy.
I know that now.
We all have insecurities
Things that
dig
under our skin
and make us cry
The ones I hear
most often are
my skin
my nose
my thighs
And believe me,
I have more
insecurities like that
than I
can count
But the ones
that really hurt
the insecurities that
keep me up at night
and rot my core so freely
Are the ones
below the surface
The tantalizing question of
am I boring?
was i interesting?
That constant fear of
did they like me?
And i don't just mean in a
she seems like
a half-decent-human,
like everyone
sort of way.
I want to know if they
found me fascinating.
Was I someone
they'd like to meet again?
was I funny?
intelligent?
did I swear too much?
Was I a pushover?
could they tell
that I was terrified?
of opening my mouth?
terrified of what I might say?
I wonder
I wonder
I wonder,
would they miss me?
would I cross their mind for no reason?
There are few I can speak to
without thinking these things.
Was I someone they
wished they could see more of?
were they glad I was there,
or would it have made much difference
if I wasn't?
And I wonder,
do they enjoy my company?
because I never realised the amount
of people that will like you
to your front, and not your back.
And
Always
Always
Always,
I wonder.
Am I someone worthy of a story?
Even more than that, I hope that I could be.
*******
again, this doesn't quite apply to me anymore- of course i still worry about things like this, but it's not nearly as bad as it was then, so please do not worry, i'm not projecting any deep emotional trauma.
YOU ARE READING
pretentious drivel // short stories, poems, and the usual c**p
De Todoa collection of short stories, poems, and general sh*te. don't have high expectations. please note some of these are old as h*ck and don't apply to me any more, i might just think they're good. // cover art by pascal campion //
