I’m scared.
Of war.
Of famine.
Of the slow death of the world.
The broken skies are crying:
Crying for the ones who perish
At the hands of those with too much power.
I cry with them.
I’m scared of life.
Of pain.
Of uncertainty.
Of the hidden lies I might live.
Do I really know who I am?
What I want?
Am I really trying my best?
Am I even trying at all?
I’m scared of death.
Can I really survive?
Will the despair overwhelm me?
What if I try to…
…
I’m not strong enough for this.
Smart enough.
Brave, faithful, good enough.
If I were,
I wouldn’t be scared.
I would fix the shattered constellations
Tear down the crumbling walls
Heed the words of the one who made me,
The one whose quiet voice calls
Forever pleading for the world to hear.
It’s saying, “I’m here.”
I’m blinded by my own hubris,
Deafened by my pride.
I hear no voice
But the one that whispers
Somewhere deep inside
My head.
An endless refrain,
“I’m not enough!”
I can’t be like the heroes I know,
From stories I’ve read
Of long ago.
They suffered.
Sacrificed.
Endured.
They gave everything to fix the world.
What have I given?
What pain have I known?
I am not strong like the heroes.
I have not sacrificed.
I have not suffered.
So why do I hope for being seen as strong?
Why wish for power when I have not earned it?
In my dreams,
I’m not scared.
In my dreams,
I am everything I want to be.
Brave,
Strong,
Important.