[Repost from January 2021]

It’s thick in my head;
the smoke of insecurity.
Little fires of doubt and
ashes of over thought,
they’re scattered around
and almost always in action.
I pretend the fires are out,
say I’m all out of doubt;
I’m not as tough as I seem.
I’m just fragile underneath.
I create fires where there’s none,
funnel smoke into my lungs,
until I’m choking on the words
and internal thoughts I hold.
I want to ask questions out loud,
and crave the reassurance;
I need help stuffing the flames,
help removing the ashes from my skin.
But I’ve tried reaching out before,
and only received a windstorm.
Turns out wind fans the flames,
And I just get burned every time.
It’s thick in my head;
The smoke of insecurity.
And I’m still fighting this battle alone.