“Life does not consist mainly — or even largely — of facts and happenings. It consists mainly of the storm of thoughts that is forever blowing through one’s head.” – Mark Twain
thank you for exposing yourself to me, had you not done so I might not have known that you were lurking there; in my psyche
although, truth really be told, I had suspected; there were tell-tale signs, those little seeds of doubt you planted and tendered
but did you have to come when the crack was exposed?
could you not have waited a little longer?
waited for the healing to start, the fissure to seal I am not ready to deal with you and your insecurities
imagining the many things that may happen, that may be said; the disasters likely to be unfurled
reality is, none of these things (usually) transpire it is just you; conspiring to control me, torment me; further feed and feed off insecurity
you hold my tongue when I feel I should speak, you stay my hand when it should reach out, you make me doubt when I should act with certainty, you cause me to be scared when there is nothing to fear
what purpose do you serve but to cripple me, keep me to yourself, plant a weight on my chest, make me struggle to breathe
away with you; you are no longer the ruler of me now that you have truly revealed yourself
knowledge is power, now that I know you your power over me is gone, I will come out of the shadow you have cast over me, pull at your weed that has been thriving toss you away; leave you behind