My final scores come out
They’re all perfect As with a single B
That my mind decides to only focus on
So it can silently start shouting;
I’m not good enough

A friend asks for my help
During the busiest week of my life
I have to tell her I can’t
And my mind picks on exactly that;
I’m obviously not a good friend

I write the perfect piece
That gets the least likes
I know the social media algorithms
Work in ways I’ll always despise
Yet it doesn’t make me think any better of myself
I suck as a writer, maybe I need to figure something else out

It sounds so terrible
When I say those words out loud
It’s just how it’s like to be inside
The mind of someone who’s so full of self-doubt
That I don’t even realize
How much my obsession
With grades and all those unnecessary details
Can make me miss out on celebrating
How far I’ve truly gone