I’m going along and one little thing after another chinks my armor,
this steely resolution that I’ve built around my head, my heart.
Weeds of doubt slip into the cracks. Words snake their way in.
And I am frightened but I don’t move. (I can’t).
I convince myself that it’s just a little thing. I can handle with it. NBD.
But it grows and grows and grows – little thing after little thing – until it’s all I can see.
The weeds curl around my heart and squeeze.
Bits of my soul ooze out, but I don’t feel a thing.
It squeezes and squeezes and squeezes until the only things left are anger, bitterness, hurt, and yes…a little pride.
(But not enough).