Blank Pages and Phobias

Although I actually hate to admit it,
blank pages scare me. Just like spiders,
snakes, and total utter failure. I see
a blank page and instead of imagining
the endless, wonderful opportunities
it could hold, I see the sad, empty
void of nothing but blue lines.
I am an internal pessimist with
a grin of an optimist, an “everything
is great but I think the glass is empty
and this shot burns my throat” smile
that everyone wants to see. I slam
my figurative fists to the counter while
my real ones fold nicely, tucked away
like my insecurities. My fear of being
in the unknown is a burden that’s
irrational, I know. It’s like when
the light of a candle flickers back and forth,
so does my wavering confidence in my
ability to act like my smile is genuine.
The inability to process fear has been
damaging souls since man decided to
go off the deep end in Eden. Darkness
haunts us, corners of a street send panic
down our spines, and being alone for too
long causes us to go mad. I don’t think
we were ever intended to live our lives
in fear, a crippling limitation that confines
us to the spaces we find comfortable, and
even sometimes those spaces can become

foreign.