Fear

Fear to be heard but humiliated

A tumult at the pit of my stomach as I search,

Search and stumble for the next small phrase,

That can accurately paint the ideas in my head

In bright yellows and reds,

greens and blues,

colors that explode and dance in the sky

like a firework on the Fourth of July,

yet still remain soft enough,

like a wax candle in the distance under a new moon,

to be almost overlooked.

Every potential second of speaking

Strikes fear in my heart

Like a finely sharpened dagger

ready to penetrate the interwoven web of my sanity.

Yet

On the surface I remain calm.

Not one muscle twitches or spurrs,

Not one expression flees my cage of steel bars without my consent.

I courtly smile and nod my head

And remain quiet.

No one knows me.

No one sees me.

They see my act

Thinking that it's me

But it's not me.

That is how I made it

But that is not what I wanted.

I want the world to see that I am not an inanimate mannequin

But a person

Who wants to be loved and feel the warm glow of others

Who wants to change the world for the better

Who wants to savor each second that life blesses upon this world

But who is restrained by that cage that she built for herself.

I am trying to slowly dig myself out of this prison

Shoveling each speck of black dirt that mockingly jeers and sits on my path

With a pencil and paper leading the way.

Writing gathers my thoughts.

It prepares me for my inner battles.

It strengthens my perception of who I am,

something I lose sight of every once in a while,

and urges me to rally on,

to make myself heard when I cannot speak,

to make myself be seen when I am invisible,

to paint that picture that can be seen from the stars,

smashing through every wall placed in the way,

and finally reaching

the person that I’ve been looking for.

Me.