i feel like i’m made of glass.  
like every test, every grade, is a hammer dangling over my head.  
and the moment i slip, the moment i can’t keep it together,  
i’ll shatter—splinters of me, too sharp to hold,  
too fragile to put back together.  
i’m not just afraid of failing as a student.  
failing as a student feels like failing as a daughter,  
like every look from my mom will harden into disappointment,  
the kind that sticks in the air,  
thick like smoke.  
i’ll breathe it in and it’ll choke me slowly.  

i’m afraid that if i don’t make it,  
they’ll all look at me and think:  
she couldn’t cut it
couldn’t handle the weight of the world pressed down on her shoulders
and when that happens,  
i won’t just be failing as a student,  
i’ll be failing as a sister,  
like my little brother won’t look at me the same,  
like i’ll lose the right to be someone he looks up to.  
he’ll see the cracks in me,  
he’ll know i’m broken.  
and there’s something terrifying about being that kind of broken,  
the kind that everyone can see but no one knows how to fix.  

and then there’s the part where i fail as a human.  
because if i can’t do this,  
what else is left for me?  
what else am i,  
if i’m not holding on tight to this idea of success,  
this idea that i need to be something,  
something good enough for them to love me.  
it’s like i’m spinning plates,  
and if one falls,  
the rest come crashing down.  
i don’t know who i am without the weight of their expectations,  
but i do know what i’d be if i fail:  
nothing.  

it’s like i can hear them,  
the voices, all around me,  
telling me that if i don’t make it,  
i’m not worth anything.  
and god, i hate how much i believe them,  
how much i buy into this idea that if i don’t check all the boxes,  
get all the grades,  
be all the things they want me to be,  
then i’m less than human,  
a glitch,  
a mistake they’ll regret ever putting their hope in.  

some nights i lie awake thinking about it,  
how close i am to falling apart,  
how one wrong move could send me spiraling,  
like i’ll slip through the cracks,  
fade into the background,  
and no one will notice,  
because all they care about is who i am on paper,  
and if the paper’s blank,  
then so am i.