I think I’m alright,
but my dreams whisper my inner doubts.
they show me I’m not good enough,
they tell me I’m not pretty.
a targeted gaze and smirk sends bullets into my heart,
a lover’s lack of eye contact freezes me into a hollow husk.
why does my brain create this?
why must it punish me in a way so ominous?
why can’t I simply enjoy my unconsciousness?
my insecurities awaken when I lose control,
hypothetical moments replay and rewind
and the worst is trapped in my head.
maybe I should listen and strive for perfection so I no longer feel inferior.
I’m trying but I know if I continue listening,
I will never be satisfied.
I’m never good enough.
I’m never pretty enough.
my dreams remind me.
Image credits: Danny G – https://unsplash.com/photos/l2NRQNkQ2Qk