For a long time, I’ve had a fear of writing poetry.
A weird fear, I know.
But when you’re as self-conscious, anxious, and self-deprecating as me, you’ll find that it’s hard to voice… just about anything.
You see, I would never raise my hand in class, because what if I was wrong?
I would never sign up for weights, because what if I’m not that strong?
That pretty girl in class? Don’t even dream about it.
If you ask for her number, she’ll leave you without it.
She’ll think you’re weird, creepy, or even ugly.
That is why I stayed away from poetry.
What if what I have to say is not all that important?
What if what I write is bad, boring, or people find it abhorrent?
So I stayed away from it.
I kept everything I wanted to say bottled up inside.
Until one day, I sat.
And I cried.
I wondered to myself
What went wrong in my life?
Why am I the way I am?
How can I fix myself?
What is my plan?
It all started with typing.
And even though I’m still an anxious wreck
Aren’t you reading my writing?