The Hungry Shadow

My insecurity has a mouth.

It chews on old conversations,

spits out highlights

of every awkward thing I’ve ever said.

﹁﹂

It loves late nights

When the kitchen is dark

And my phone becomes a mirror

I keep lifting to my face.

﹁﹂

It whispers:

they didn’t mean it,

they don’t miss you,

You’re embarrassing,

You’re too—whatever.

﹁﹂

Sometimes I feed it on purpose,

scrolling, comparing,

poking my own life

like a bruise to “check” if it hurts.

(It does. Surprise.)

﹁﹂

But lately I’ve tried something else:

I cook real food,

I play one song twice,

I text a friend who is kind

and doesn’t ration affection.

﹁﹂

I water the small plant by the window

and watch it do that brave thing

turn toward light

without asking permission.

﹁﹂

The shadow still shows up,

hungry as ever,

But I don’t set the table for it.

﹁﹂

I feed the parts of me

that want to live,

that want to laugh loud,

that want to rest

without being earned.

﹁﹂

Maybe one day

The shadow will shrink

into something harmless

just a shape on the wall

When the sun is behind me.