What if I'm wrong?
What if everything going on around me is right,
and I'm forced to succumb to the never ending pressure?
I have so much left to do.
I've barely lived.
I cannot yet face
That Horrifying Beast.
I've not prepared myself.
What will she look like?
I dare not wonder too much
for fear that the thought of
will summon her,
beckon her ever closer.
There are some who live with the knowledge of her presence,
have:
Stared her down,
Sat with her for years,
Spoken on and off,
Went to her willingly.
But I cannot bring myself to do those things,
to expose myself to her for too long.
I've caught flashes,
glimpses into what she might be.
From the edges of my vision,
I've seen her.
Bright moments with
my eyes closed,
my heart walled off,
breathing out to keep her at bay.
But at night,
when the world is dark,
and I cannot catch
a glimmer of hope,
she calls, taunting,
knowing I'll eventually
respond in kind.
I convince myself,
tell myself stories,
sing myself songs,
create myself worlds,
All for the idea that I will be fine.
That I will have time.
That this life is mine.
But what if I'm wrong?
YOU ARE READING
Foreign Heart - A Poetry Collection
PoetryEmotions continue to perplex me, and this is me simply trying my hardest to understand where they come from and what they mean.
