the world against me, fifteen
the world had sharp edges, glinting with whispers that cut, and i felt their eyes on me like a weight, heavy with things i couldn’t name. at fifteen, the world was a monster, its jaws ready, its shadow everywhere; i heard it snicker in the silence, blame building in the walls. everyone was out to get me — friends who spoke too softly, strangers with sidelong glances. i was sure they all knew something i didn’t, that somehow i had crossed some line. but maybe it was just fifteen’s way to pull paranoia close, to make every question a dagger, every silence an answer. maybe i only wore the villain’s cloak because i was afraid of the world’s teeth, not knowing it was my own reflection, sharp and young and afraid.
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