Amateur writer. On the path of the phrase that says "practice makes perfect." Avid consumer of books that make me think, make me feel.
Dear Anxiety, you are the origin
Of a lot of my thoughts, but also
Of my despair. So, does that make you
At the center of my intellect? No.
I must repeat that to myself.
Does my fury define me? No.
This is a reminder to me.
My errors do not define who I am, and
Criticism isn't the end of me. This is
My key to sanity.
Surely, the person who I imagine
Myself to be isn't the same
As the one people really perceive.
But should this be the cause of
Long-awaited relief or
Added, dreaded angst?
The thousands of conversations created
In my brain, are they useful
Preparation or valueless clutter?
Do people ever feel as intimidated by
Me as I do by them? Do they wish
I would approach them just as I wish
They would? Am I really
Valuable enough? Yes, I am sure
That I am. Am I confident enough?
I like to think so. But I have no proof.
Please, life, when I gather the courage
To take a leap of faith, don't make it a jump
From the top of a cliff. Rather,
Make it like a bungee jump
That leads me to freedom
From Anxiety's prison.
© 2017 H Bakerley
