My fears have evolved

From monsters under my bed

To disasters in my work.

With an apprehension of disappointing,

I’m left stranded at the start line

With nothing but quivering knees

And last night’s dinner

Daring to escape my lips.

 

My exterior has gotten

Real good at hiding

My body’s basic rejection

Of trying,

A mere regurgitation

Of the “normalcy”

I was force-fed.

 

That look of determination

Was a just a mask made by my father.

I am stitched together by

My mother’s bedtime stories

Of inventors

Of healers

Of givers

Of saints

 

Of perfection.

 

All of whom I am not

Nor will I ever be.

 

Ever-present dread of future.

Producing condensation on my skin,

A clamminess in my palms.

Sliding off the rope

But I was already at the end.

Cut by the fear of my

Own shadow

And how I can never catch it.

 

There is no Neverland,

No Peter Pan’s or Mad Hatter’s

Only politicians and con-men

And people doing anything they can

Just put a loaf of bread on a table

Made by some $2.75 worker

Who wishes nothing more than to

Breathe in the salty stench of American shores

With more work ethic than

I could ever hope to ooze out

of my ungrateful pores.

 

I have failed my inner child,

And it’s that failure

That scares away my outer adult.

 

I am my favorite novel

Highlighted and underlined

And passed around a campfire

Only to be thrown in those flames

With the rest of the books and

Bibles and moral codes of my peers.

Nothing is how it used to be.

 

I am no longer who I wanted to be.