Your Favorite Phrase

Dear Fear,

For so long you’ve clutched me.

Cradled me when the unfamiliar approached,

comforted me when the world was too much.

You gave your favorite phrase to me,

What if?

What if I went for that walk?

Would my mind clear so that I could focus

for once that week,

because you took over

and I can’t hear myself think over your voice.

Your “what if?”

What if I spoke my mind?

Raised the voice I’ve kept quiet?

Quiet for so long that I don’t remember what it sounds like.

The voice that begs to be heard.

Poverty. Racism. The Environment.

My body. My choice.

Time’s up.

I want to stand up for what I believe, for what’s right.

If not for you,

I just might.

What if I wasn’t self-conscious?

Aware of judgement and the stubborn glares

that lurk at every turn.

Pursed lips

A muffled chuckle.

Meant to be heard.

Meant to isolate.

My appearance is mine.

You cannot change that.

What if this?

What if that?

What if I had?

What if? What if? What if?

You ensnare me in your labyrinth

of doubt and second guessing.

The impossibilities, the improbabilities

they overwhelm me.

No more.

You have no agency over me.

My life is my own, your whispers can no longer control it.

I cut your strings

No longer am I your puppet.

No longer am I your subject.

I am free.