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Un Pequeño Poema Del Primer Libro Anoche Soñé Que Mi Cuerpo Era Sal Y Arena De La Escritora Colombiana Y Astreana Luna Vázquez.
Próximamente Les Estaré Subiendo La Fecha De Lanzamiento.📚😍

I can’t convince you I’m worth it, because I don’t even know how to convince myself. There’s always someone better. It’s like my brain refuses to let me just *be*—it keeps looking over my shoulder, counting what I’m not, measuring me against people I’ll never catch.
I don’t feel chosen. I feel… temporary. Like if I stop performing, stop improving, stop trying to be impressive enough, everything will fall apart. And maybe that’s why I keep waiting for the day someone decides I’m not it. Because in my head, that day feels inevitable.
Like—sure, I can do things. I can show up. I can care. I can try. But “trying” doesn’t feel like proof. Trying feels like a placeholder. And I hate that I’m like this, because I want to believe that I matter without having to earn it, but every time I get close to believing it, my mind throws it back at me.
There will always be someone better.
More talented. More confident. More whatever. Someone who doesn’t look so uncertain. Someone who makes it look easy. Someone who can say the right thing and mean it. Someone who seems like they were born knowing what I’m still figuring out.
And I tell myself that if that person exists, then what does that say about me?
It says I’m behind.
It says I’m replaceable.
It says I should lower my expectations before I get disappointed again.
That’s what I keep doing—preempting the pain. I pull myself back first, so I can’t be pushed away. I doubt myself before anyone else gets the chance. Because if I already believe I’m not enough, then at least I can feel prepared when the world agrees with me.
But I’m tired of living like that.
I’m tired of making my life feel like a competition I never asked to be in. I’m tired of treating my worth like it’s something you have to win, like it’s a test you can study for. Like if I’m just a little more polished, a little more impressive, a little more acceptable, then maybe I’ll finally feel safe.
Maybe I don’t need to be the best to be worth something.
Maybe I just need to stop acting like being compared is the same as being rejected.
Because yeah—someone better might exist. Someone always will. But that doesn’t mean I’m nothing. It doesn’t mean my life is meaningless. It doesn’t mean I don’t deserve love, or time, or space—just because I’m not the top option on some imaginary list.
I don’t know how to believe that yet, not fully.
But I know this: I’m done constantly proving I deserve to be here. I’m done shrinking myself to fit into a category where I’ll always lose. I’m done treating my existence like it’s negotiable.
So maybe, for now, I can’t convince you I’m worth it.
But I can stop convincing myself I’m not.
—flor_green