Look away, for this will ruin your morning, your evening, and your day.

If you’re looking for pieces of art, here is not the right place to stay.

I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel this way.

Welcome to my pity party, have a silver medal.

Inferiority, is the flower petals closing upon me, letting me hide behind a fragile façade. Hoping that nobody pries them apart, or I’ll be torn to shreds. But when dawn arrives, again and again every single day, I’m forced to face my harsh reality that I am not enough, and that no matter what I tell myself, I never will be.

They swarm in the moment I awake, attacking, stinging, numbing me. I know they want the nectar, but it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Curling up in agony, I cling onto it while the onslaught continues. A soft hiss and the smoker sets in, sedating them, but I’m not relieved.

I can’t see through the smog. I’m gasping for air, grasping for something, anything. It surrounds me, thickening every time I swipe at it, trying to clear my clouded vision. It dulls my mind and drowns out everything else. I only hear the static thought on repeat, I don’t know its exact words, but its message is clear.

Falling, plummeting into the void far below. What was I holding on to? He’s there waiting for me, sneering at my pathetic attempts to scramble out before I’m buried with my failures. His smile is the last thing I see before I’m blanketed in dirt.

She’s a different type of suffocation, I feel. Perhaps she’s here to help me grow, watch me fight my way out of my casing and blossom into a seedling. Then…why do I feel so ignored? I get trampled upon, ripped out, disposed of. I realise, I’m not that exquisite flower, just the irksome weeds.

I’ll always be inferior.

(A self-aware writer.)