Worry Warts

I am worried that I am a glutton. I am worried that my chin betrays this fact. Too fat for the rest of my face. I store my shame in my throat. It folds over itself because it is all excess. Soon it will migrate downwards, to my arms, my gut, and then my legs. Worried I will become bigger than everyone else. Worried everyone will realize but me.

I am worried that I am not even sick but just weak. Worried that I will be diagnosed with sloth. Worried the treatment is just to be reminded that the world is harsher and harder than I want it to be. Worried I have just been asking everyone to make the world easier for me instead of trying to become stronger. Worried everyone knows that but me. Worried that nobody has the heart to tell me that I am terrible because I am so fragile. Worried that I am fragile.

I am worried that my body is disgusting. Worried that everyone knows but me. Worried that my shoulders fold and my skin sags and my face droops. I am worried that the back of my head is flat. I am worried that I have incomprehensible dimensions. That no one can see me because my form makes no sense. Worried that my body defies the laws of nature. Worried that my ankles are too thick and my feet too small. Worried that I am not girl-shaped but an amorphous mass taking up more space than I have any right to.

Worried all of this is hormonal. Worried that I have no control.

I am worried that I am always attracted to the wrong people. Worried that that hurts my friends. Worried that the feeling will never leave me. Worried I’ll start a fight so ridiculous nobody ever takes me seriously again. Worried that nobody takes me seriously. Worried that everyone knows my weaknesses but me. Worried that everyone is being gentle with me. Worried that I’m a flirt even when I don’t mean to be. Worried that I come off as desperate. Worried that I am not friendly enough. Or too friendly, maybe. Just worried.

Worried I don’t feel things as deeply as I used to.