Fear

Fear, I used to believe that anger was my constant companion. And while it is true she’s been ever present in my life for almost as long as I can remember, it is you who fed her and bathed her in your poison tonic. I see you. the way my eyes shift and hyperfocus on words I need to mull through and dissect with precision. On patterns and the cadence of voices. I feel you. In the pit of my being and digging in my head, mining for your meal of anxiety and sucking on the scraps of “I told you so” that you’ve already dished out. I know you. A safety mechanism gone wild, some feral part of us that bites and then cowers in the dark corner just praying that the beasts pass her by. You are the wanton destruction of a soul’s intent, a harbinger of forsaken dreams. You promise us that to follow you will make us safe, but who will protect us from you? My insides are tired from carrying you around like some rotten, unborn sickness that I can’t digest or drown in drink or food or tears. My throat is so sore from silently screaming at you to please just stop in a way that has even managed to make my anger too exhausted to bother waking herself to fight. We are all too exhausted. The whole world of us. We are dead at your throne. So, you see, I have nothing more to give you. Just like I see that I haven’t really won. As long as we are inside these shells, you have a place to feed. A place to feast. Our only choice is to face you. And live anyway.

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