My Worth

My worth is merely on a post it note
that says, "You are amazing."

My worth to others,
that is.

My worth in myself is
even higher than that,
I feel.

But my worth to others
is like
a birthday card,
collected in dust
eating away in my closet,
that I need to throw away.
It means nothing.
And it is nothing.

I'm supposed to feel anger or sadness or anything at all.
But I feel exhaustion.
Exhaustion of a life
where I don't know how I ended up here.
Paling through a dream
of falling but never meeting the ground
and dying.
A forever dream of never ending fairytales.
Where everyone pretends that I'm
going to feel better automatically
if someone says I'm worth love.

Where was Josh in the midst of my pain?
Hell, even if he did love me,
he'd be dead before he'd ever admit that.
Where were my high school friends
who claimed best friends forever,
now ignoring me
and still being friends with each other?
After that, I've had people come and go,
but usually not stay.
Either I'm just a good toy to fuck
or they've moved on to someone better,
more interesting. More well put together.

I'll never be one of those women with a Phd and "credentials."

Nah, I'm just a dead carcass, lying on my grave. My tombstone is marked.

The world does not want a leech. It wants a sophisticated woman.

A woman who just can "tough up" and get on with life.

Who has an expansive amount of knowledge.

Not a loner like me ready to collapse at the thought of someone actually caring about me.

It's easier to be alone.

I know...

I get it...

I push people away...

It's partially my fault.

But as a people pleasing addict who'd rather not take too much accountability that isn't even mine to take, I'll stress it's not entirely my doing.

People will choose what they choose.

I still have a glimmer of hope. A flashlight while they have the whole stage glow.

One day, maybe finally...it'll be my time to shine.