Atelophobia
The fear of imperfection, of not being good enough,
or not doing something right.
The fear that consumes my mind through the day
and at night,
Leaves me staring at the ceiling, too tired
to fight.
The fear the whispers into my mind
when I talk.
And quietly follows my footsteps
when I walk.
This fear and my diffidence are
thick friends
They smile smugly and lock me away
from my dreams of resplendence.
Why do the giggles and the shy glances seem evanescent
when they are not?
Why are the words stuck in my head like this
black dot?
A dot that wouldn’t go away how much ever
you wash the cloth.
But,
it’s a small dot.
Small enough that I can ignore it and
make someone laugh and talk.
Small enough that I can ignore it and
keep my head up when I walk.
Small enough that I can ignore it when I fall and
emerge stronger than a rock.