Don't discard me
like a seashell
with a blemish
yes
I'm cracking
of course
I'm crumbling
no amount of polishing
will sand away the bits
of me
you'd rather not deal with
Again
and
again
I am picked up
examined
and thrown away
always falling short
never the right shade
or shape
Forlorn
in the sand I await
unable to unsee
everyone
but
me
being chosen
One day
as the sun sets
I let myself release the childish
dream
that I was enough for
them
that they were enough
for
me.
-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Atelophobia: the fear of imperfection. The fear of never being good enough.
