I feel guilt

Over the silliest things

Like I don’t deserve

What my world brings

An odd example

Is Harry Potter

And how I never read the books

But still love the wizarding world

Another example

Is how much time I spend with friends

I know they love me

But I still believe our time will soon end

Yet another thing

Is the music I listen to

Do I love this artist enough,

To be considered a fan?

And back to the books

Sitting unread on my shelf

It feels like I’m wasting

Their wonderful pages

I hate my phone

I really do

It sucks me into a void I never knew

Yet I can’t escape, I just cry after its use

So many times

I’ve asked, am I good enough?

To still play soccer?

To still be a reader?

To still be a writer?

To still play clarinet?

To still like to draw?

To still be a friend?

And with every question

I’m sucked back in

To a never ending reality

I’ve somehow gotten myself in

____________

This isn’t my best poem but I was really just trying to get down some feelings I’ve been having for a while. I hope this can find someone who relates to this in some way though. Whoever is reading this, make sure to tell yourself that you’re enough. You don’t have to be perfect or devote your entire personality to something your interested in just to be considered interested in it. You’re amazing in everything you do, no matter the extent your doing it in. I really love you, so go tell yourself that you love you too. ❤️❤️❤️