January 29, 2016

The faint whisper of insecurity sweeps over me when I least expect it.
As I scroll through the litany of perfectly cropped pictures and quaint status updates, she whispers to me.
“You will never be good enough.”
“You aren’t creative like that.”
“You’ll never have a normal life.”
“They are all laughing at you.”
She’s a sneaky bitch.
She holds my heart in her hands, and gives it a tight squeeze.
She squeezes just long enough until I can’t remember who I am.
I can’t remember all that I’ve done.
I can’t remember my own perfections.
I only see the glare in front of me, and I’m left wishing I was just as perfectly cropped and shiny.

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