Worth

At some point you have to admit,
that your shadow is daunting,
that fear eclipses your potential,
stiffens you,
paralysing inaction,
remarkably unremarkable.

I was fifteen,
when I realised,
I had a lifelong journey ahead of me,
of taking what I wanted.

It needn’t be like a tyrant does,
that would be too heavy a guilt to carry,
and I have a vested interest in my longevity,
but meekness could not be the badge I wear.

To carry rage,
to contain wisdom,
to bottle up emotion,
a certain kind of fortress,
tight sealing and safe,
both from and to the world,
needs to be built.
Am I romanticising my development,
or am I staring my subconscious dead in the eyes,
I’d say both.

What are you doing to yourself,
inflexible,
and immobile.
Frozen at the crossroads,
of self doubt and complacency.

This comfort you adorn yourself in,
this robe of lethargy and victim-hood,
has to be removed.

A little discomfort,
a lot of exposure,
to elements that make you shiver and shudder,
wouldn’t go astray.

A healthy appetite of fear and apprehension,
won’t do you harm.

All you need,
are sharp tenacious teeth,
to bite at everything that comes your way.

But you can’t have that,
if like a leech you suck the world around you dry,
if you never give off fragrances of your soul,
oblivious and impartial to anything in return,
limelight, entitlement and praise,
the least of your concern.

W.E.

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