I feel as if I will never write again.
I feel the doubt and fear,
paralyzing me until I don’t know what to say or hear.
They hate me, don’t they?
I fear their eyes,
their words,
their tears.
But I cannot speak.
I listen for the footsteps.
Where are they now?
Lighter footsteps slamming the door until I cannot hear them anymore.
Heavy footsteps have gone as well, the door is opened.
There they are.
I feel small,
so small
and little.
The word regression comes to mind.
They are coming closer, switch the tab, and hope that they are blind.
Questions are like landmines, and each one is smaller, still, no matter the size of the landmine, whether you try to confront or evade, they all are set to ****.
I don’t know if I can do this, be anyone I want to be.
Will I be a starving artist and a disappointment to my family?
My name is Fear, I do not grow, I am small in every way.
My impact is big, my job so large, and yet small in stature is how I stay.
Am I Fear, or am I something hidden far below?
If I am Fear, then tell me please why does my power grow?
As soon as I speak I forget the words, the problems, and questions as well.
There are so many things I yearn to learn, so eager to tell.
Growing up is stupid, and you can’t disagree;
so many things have gotten harder with age for me.
Don’t go outside,
don’t say a word,
don’t stay on the path,
don’t be deterred.
Don’t sing,
don’t write,
don’t flirt,
don’t fight.
These are simple things to ask of you.
Don’t listen,
don’t hear,
don’t have courage,
don’t fear.
These are what you know, and simple things to do.
Impossible standards are easy, the simple tasks are hard.
Is it one voice now, or many?
Are you always on your guard?
Listen, See, Do, Be.
These are simple, don’t you see?
Doubt is here, or is it fear?
Or maybe someone new?
All of these thoughts are yours my dear, so what does that mean for you?
