self worth

My head hasn't even hit the pillow yet, and I'm already overanalyzing everything I've said. You don't need to like yourself, if you're on the internet. Likes, notes, and reshares keep my affection fed. My self-worth is measured by how I'm liked, if my notifications aren't full then I don't know how to get by. Did they like my song, my poem, my story? Was that sketchbook page a little too gory? I'll cut it back, make it happy. Fake my life just to make them want me. Smiling has become a hobby. Been looking into mirrors, can't say anything but "That's not me". That girl looks like a zombie, eyebags so dark she looks like she's trying to haunt me. Her ribcage peeks out from the shirt she wears, part of her wants to disappear--but part of her wants people to stop and stare. Her belt cinched so tight around her waist that it's become a corset, and her red hair hangs down like a mop off of her head. Hiding her face, because it looks so out of place, with the rest of her. I guess the internet got the rest of her, and it really hurts. But it's a good burn.