I Am Scared

I live in fear. I fear falling. And breaking. And getting up. And falling. Again. I shatter. Every time I hit the ground. What do I do with the shattered pieces? The ones that…warped? And the…splintered ones? There are pieces there I don’t recognise. What if I put them back...wrong? Lose them? Or what if they do not…fit? I’ve put the pieces…back, I’ve scrubbed them raw. I’ve glued them together. Some cut me when I tried and I dropped them. I never find them all. I am standing and I am fractured. There are holes. Blank space. I am bleeding where I forced pieces to…fit. I put the pieces back, but they are not mine. They are not the me I weep for. The me I yearn to be. These are new pieces. Strange pieces. Known...but not. When I rise, I watch. Some pieces have torn off. But the holes do not ache. Pieces fall loose. They disappear. The pieces that are there have hardened. Some are opaque. Some burn. Some glitter as I rise. Do I need the pieces that are gone? Do I have to fill the gaps? I’m afraid and I cannot escape the fear. I stop running and I look. The fear is dark and dangerous. But also concerned? …and protective. Perhaps it is trying… to keep me whole? The fear is mine. And perhaps I am its. If I hold it close, can I keep going? When I fall and break, will we rise together? I have before. I’ve been scared and fallen. I’ve been scared and risen. So, what if I lean… into it? When fear tightens its grasp around my heart, can I breathe with it? When it forms a lump in my throat, can I speak to it? When fear breathes cold in the air, can I look for it? And when it runs ice down my spine, will I heed it? Can I hold my fear, softly? Can I hold…myself, tenderly? I have fallen and risen before. Can I fall and rise… again? I am on the ground. Pieces scattered. The puddle I’ve fallen into is still. The water watching me as I watch back. Then, I see her. Afraid. Brave. Carrying her fear. New. Altered. But familiar. And she is rising.