Worried

I’m worried.
Worried that I’m not smart enough,
not pretty enough,
and my weaknesses will be exposed to others,
as everyone sits and watches with eyes full of judgement.
Worried that one day, you’ll love someone more,
and I will be tossed out
like trash at the dump.
Worried that my friends will think differently of me
because I don’t have a mansion like theirs.
Worried that the day to graduate from high school
will come too soon.
Worried that I’m not living in the moment.
Worried that my brother
impresses my parents more.
Worried that I will disappoint.
Worried that I worry too much,
and one day my mind will shatter
into a million pieces,
like a glass cup that drops to the floor.
But why should I worry?