Nightly, I sit down and eat my fears
in a bowl mixed with anxiety and confusion.
In the late evening, when I’m at my fullest,
I’ll find myself pulling away;
those fearful flavors fill my mouth.
All the good of the day fades.
The fear I eat my fill of: vulnerability.
I swallow it down and I hide it.
Then I do feel completely alone,
in the moments between each fear
I hear it, “You are not worthy.”
The weight of my wrongs crash on to me, crushing me.
Slowly, I fall into an uneasy sleep,
but in my sleep I continue to eat them; my fears.
Wake up and see that I am alone
“just go back to sleep,” I tell myself.
And back-and-forth until morning comes,
Until someone can see me, I continue to eat.
By: Caitlin Schemmer
