The Fear

We're all scared.

I'm scared to scratch my thoughts onto paper,

For fear of leaving ugly scars.

You're scared to cast your gaze upwards,

For fear of deciphering constellations in the stars.


This fear it chokes and blinds me,

Makes my fingers tremble in hate.

It turns my reflection into an enemy,

And decisions into fate.


This fear it flows through me,

Inconsistent – sometimes ebbing,

Sometimes flowing,

But consistent, in that

It is never absent.


This fear it howls in my mind,

Makes the beat of my heart too loud.

This fear it consumes me,

And invites the hissings of the crowd.


I fear this fear, and I fear the fear

That created this fear in the first place.

There are too many levels, too many layers

Of terror to comprehend.


It shakes me to my core

And it vibrates in every breath

I fearfully inhale.

It is in my blood and

It makes up the substance of my bones.


Yours too.


This fear is what keeps me clothed;

It is what locks me inside, and yet

Dangles the key so enticingly before me.

I can't take it.


This fear lives in the ink of my pen,

And in the connections I transmit my words across,

To allow others to read them.

The fear it lives in the bones of my fingers,

In the frightened humming of my brain

As I struggle for words

And breath.


It is vile hatred and putrid control;

It is obnoxious anxiety and a stain on my soul.

It is the thread that holds together my seams –

Prevents me from exposing the bloody insides

Of myself.


It is both friend and foe,

Lover and murderer.


I can't fight it.


But when it is done screaming

And clawing at my conscience,

A message will come from the fear.

It will lean closer and whisper,

'Pick up your pen, my dear'.