This Fear Is Not My Own

This fear is not my own. It is a manifestation of the fear of others.

This fear is not my own. It is a projection, an overlay cast upon the surface of my reality, a two dimensional construct without any true depth of form.

This Fear is not my own. It is a false skin stretched too tightly, hinting at the true structure of muscle and bone buried beneath.

This fear is not my own. I merely pretend that it is because that is what society tells me I should feel, how I should react, the correct way to be and the correct way to behave given such and such a circumstance or condition. There is surely something wrong with you if you don’t.

Sometimes I manage to convince myself that this fear is actually mine, but all the while from within I am watching with consternation, aware that this fear is not my own.

This fear is not my own, and I grow tired of the game of pretending that it is for the sake of others.

This fear is not my own and so I divest myself of this makeup and this clown costume. Casting it all aside, I stand naked, exposed for all the world to see, and sigh.