It’s not you, it’s me.

It’s scary. I’m not where I wanted to be, doing what I wished to do, because I was too scared to take the leap. I think back to all the things I could have done, all the opportunities available, and I didn’t take them nor pursue them. Call it pride or fear, or even naivety, but I always hope others will approach me first.

If I want to write for an online site, like ThoughtCatalog, I should just look for a good one and write them a letter of request.

But my pride gets in the way. So does fear.

Instead, I wallow in sadness and settled for convenience, availability and security.

I want to take risks, I really do. But I can’t, because of how I’ve been brought up to do the right thing, to do what is expected, safe and the norm.

I have twisted that logical thing and painted my self-perception from head to toe with it. I can’t see myself taking risjks becasue I don’t think I have it in me. I don’t see how I am capable enough to even attempt.

The canary watches with flickering lids,
swallows free and larks, well, larking about.
They dart and soar, pretty sights,
The canary watches.

The door wide open,
chance, some may call it
The canary watches.

Key dangling,
window thrown open and curtain flying, letting in that
cool wind, hints of cinnamon and autumn and freedom.
The canary watches.

Slow creaks,
a piercing scream of reluctance,
disappointment trailing along its veins –
its beak droops with regret and
The canary watches,

Even this isn’t up to standard. Whose, you may scream but I have no answer. It just isn’t good enough.

Never ever.


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