Doubt is as fickle as a friend gets,
Only, I doubt our friendship,
saving my life,
I thought,
A by-product of watching television lobotomies,
keeping limbs intact,
Climbing trees was a foolhardy cause overtaken only by the most fervent and restless of souls,
I was a fan of the process,
Because of these bindings
I was content with my books,
electronics became stimulation,
I stood side-lined,
And it took me until I was seven to learn to ride a bike.
So when I started talking,
I doubted I’d get further than I already was,
pauses between syllables were an inferno,
I doubted universal truths,
weren’t you mad?
I apologize frantically to this day,
Much to my dismay,
My self-doubt is a part of me,
Maybe it isn‘t,
It’s a monkey on my back stitched with the threads of restricting apprehension,
I’d rip it off of me if it weren’t so painful to relive the experience of those failings.
From outside of my comfort zone,
Down came the hammer,
And astonishingly,
I stood undaunted,
When the bonds broke,
Doubt said that I wouldn't have,
But maybe, doubt was wrong,
Threads fell loose by the hundreds,
Force was what held us together,
The more I accepted the inevitable,
Becoming like water and adapting to the universe around me,
And we drifted more and more apart,
But also, the less frantic and scared I was,
Until they were gone,
And I became whole.