when i was little,
i used to read those books,
you know,
by shel silverstein?
where the sidewalk ends,
and
a light in the attic?
there was a poem in one,
and it went like this:
"Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!"
and that poem sticks in my head,
a lot.
because,
really,
"whatif's" control my every thought.
my "whatif's" keep me,
all in check,
when they breathe their "whatif's",
on my neck.
they keep me waiting,
watching,
and wary,
"whatif" life, wasn't so scary?
"whatif" i could live,
and not be so afraid,
"whatif" i was sure,
of the choices i've made?
i guess i'll find out soon,
but "whatif" i don't.
to be honest i'm scared,
that maybe i won't.