Friday, February 17, 2012
Out of Hiding
She sits on my shoulder, nagging, coaxing, urging, "It's time...again. You can do it." I want to argue.
If I fail...again...can I take the blow, or stumble and fall like a weary boxer, unable to stand up just one more time?
I know why this is hard.
I have enclosed myself with a grotesque armor to keep you away, in spite of the evidence that it
I see others who seem
I've felt that way once
It makes me
Can I borrow a cup of courage for the cake of confidence I want to make?
I need it. Mine is empty.
N.B. After receiving a concerned text from a friend, I thought I'd add a note. This began as a semi-story and morphed into a poem. I wrote it several years ago although, frankly, there are still some aspects of it that haunt me. Not to worry, dear readers, I'm not as seriously depressed as this sounds. In fact, life is mighty fine. If you were one that read this and wondered if I was in real trouble, thanks for your concern. Truly.