I want to do as I please
To soar like a bird, wild and free.
I want to rid me my mask
To show my face at long last.
Yet I fear spreading my wings
To let the breeze kiss my skin.
I feel doubt crawl over me
Creeping like vines of poison ivy.
What if my wings don't spread?
What if they're just arms instead?
What if my mask hides not a face?
What if it's all just empty space?
What if I don't find malleable clay?
What if it's stone, all in decay?