Real Tangible Cold Fear

This is not a poem.
Straight forward
for full transparency
I’m afraid of more hands
but more than that
I’m afraid of failing again.
Of having to keep quitting.
I finally get to write it down.
More than trauma
more than some triumphant overcoming,
I’m a quitter.
I quit on my successes
because I didn’t want them.
I arrived at it all, but I didn’t deserve that
blazer-wearing, hand-shaking life.
I arrived at it all, but I didn’t claim that
work that I’d done.
I’m ashamed of the frustration I caused even
when I told myself I did it all for survival.
Maybe I didn’t.
Maybe I didn’t because I’m never going to want
the commitment of being a great person.

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