What makes something real?
To see, to smell, to touch it?
What if it's not something anyone can see
Or touch
But something you alone can feel, hear
Some, many
Barely hear it
Barely feel it
Some, others
Call it a voice
A nagging, clingy warble
Like a fly buzzing by my ear
Only when I swat at it
It grows louder
Deafening
Until it's all I can hear
Twisting my perception of the world
Taking what I see, hear, feel
And changing it into something worse
It makes the worst of every situation
It tells me what to think
It tells me what other people think
And sometimes, I even believe it
What if...
You can't...
You won't...
I didn't always know
That this voice lied to me
That a single failure
Wasn't the end of the world
That an unpleasant conversation
Wasn't the end of the world
That being rejected
Wasn't the end of the world
That really
There aren’t many things that would happen
That would be the end of the world
I learned
That this voice
This perturbed, apocalyptic voice
Isn't all-knowing
Or a fortune teller
Or a mind reader
No, it's just scared
Just like me
It is me
And it is real
And it's not going anywhere
But I don't want it to
I don't want to swat it away
I want to make peace with it
For it to perch in my mind
Like a sweet-tempered dove
It will still chirp, and chatter, and trill
But it's a part of me
And if I'm gentle, patient
If I treat it with kindness
Maybe it'll do the same