“You’re worthless, you know.”
It’s all in her head.
The words pull her deeper into the cold comfort of her bed.

“You’re worthless, you know.”
It’s all in her head.
The clock strikes twelve and she dreams that she’s dead.

“I’m sure he’ll accept you. Give him time, Brooke,”
Sighs the unhelpful mother,
To a child, seventeen, who cries under the covers.

“Why can’t you try at least, you could be so much more,”
Sighs the unhelpful mother,
To a child, broken dreams, who wishes they were more like their brother.

“I deserve the world,” he says.
He’s trying to be honest.
And he’s right, he’s a god. Yet they call him goddess.

“They won’t miss me,” he says.
He’s trying to be honest.
“It’s okay. I don’t think I’d miss me either. I promise.”