Entry 24 – Authoring Beyond Fear
495 Words
I carry a burden.
My heart weighs heavy.
Troubled thoughts linger, how do I set it free?
I’m scared of feeling and writing everything.
Scared of looking back to find a hollow echo
where my own heart refused to rest,
after pouring out pieces of myself to heal others.
I’m scared of doubting,
scared of trusting deeply,
scared of believing in myself
only to fall through the cracks again.
Scared of failing myself in the one thing I love.
Scared of becoming what I despise,
of doing the very thing I promised I’d never do again.
Scared of rewiring ties I’ve sworn to sever.
I’m scared of having dreams
but not daring to hope –
because hope once betrayed me,
and effort had come back empty-handed.
Scared of writing about healing while breaking.
Scared of sounding wise while being mentally untethered.
Scared of being a finance coach,
while my pocket speaks the language of brokenness
more than I can speak broken English.
Scared of being the currency
and not the portfolio –
spent, but not invested.
Scared of having a sharp mind
but a trembling heart.
Scared of being alone…
yet equally scared of being with someone.
I’m scared of writing about Faith,
Christianity,
Truth..
and ending up the furthest from all three.
Scared of being the poet and never the poem.
Scared of being a minor theme,
in a story I’m supposed to be the major one.
Scared of being the letters but not the words.
The setting and never the plot.
Scared of losing myself in every line,
every stanza,
every paragraph.
Scared of being the ignored one
in a theory question of "Answer any one of your choice."
Scared of drying up to a lake when I’m an ocean.
Scared of becoming a furnace when I’m just a
candlelight.
Scared of being old while I'm young,
and being young when I’m old.
Scared of becoming a shadow and not a being,
visible only where light allows.
Scared of just existing and not living.
Scared of being the land and not the building,
the ground everyone steps on,
but never the structure they admire.
Scared of becoming a desert when I am a garden,
of losing color to heat,
of watching softness evaporate.
Scared of being a noise and not an echo,
of shouting into the world
and hearing nothing of myself return.
Scared of being a mirror seldom dusted,
reflecting everyone else’s pain
while I fade in the background.
Scared of being the ink and never the inscription,
poured out endlessly
but never becoming a meaning someone keeps.
I am scared that writing will break me more than it heals me.
Scared of remaining a draft.
Scared of being Scared.
But one thing I know is:
"Even trembling hands can write truth and weary earts can still hold light."
And so I write.
Not because I am fearless… but because I refuse to let fear be the final author of my story.
- Writer
