Tiny

Can you see me? Are you even aware I’m here? Because it feels like you aren’t.

Do you even know my name, my passions, my story? So why judge me already?

I feel tiny under your strict gaze, which from time to time shifts to a softer one, but then it all just goes back to how it was before.

It’s sad feeling tiny and useless.

It’s sad feeling like this all the time.

I mean—it’s sad enough already that I’m writing about this when in real life telling you all of this could never come close to a possibility.

It is said that those who stand out are best, the exalted ones, so what does that say about me?

Am I not enough for you?

Am I really not good enough at anything? So bad that you can’t even praise me?

Now that’s sad: wanting to be praised by someone you admire so much.

It’s even sadder admitting it all, but I can’t help it.

I still can’t help but feel tiny.

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