doubt

an upset self-criticism that shouldn't have happened but happened anyways

she can see her dim reflection watching herself in the glass wall

who are you? it questions with it's cold glare

who are you sitting with too many binders and notebooks open in front of you?

who are you tapping your foot restlessly, ceaselessly against the ground as if it will do anything to take away the weight of the stares, the pressure

you, yes you, who keeps glancing up nervously as if you feel like you're being watched and judged

you, waiting for someone to come and save you, why are you worth saving?

you're loved, and yet how are you loved?

why you?

look at you, so hostile, so fidgety, blaring music to keep the world out because right now the world is too much and you don't want to deal.

take a deep breath and watch the skin of your forehead crease with deep furrows

every now and then you'll remember the taste of alcohole, the taste of his mouth, the taste of him, and you'll keep wondering and hoping,

will it be worh it in the end?

how does he love you?

you with your cold glare and deep frown and fidgety feet,

why are you loved?