aletophobia.

in its subtle form it years to speak

through a medium, a message

enclosed in doubt

it desires to break free

the chain holding back a weary tongue

water flowing red, a braid coming undone

no one comprehends the area of imperfection

nor the silent cry of wont of encouragement

x

does the burden of expectation not weight you down?

the standards formulated

by the choices made to challenge

by decisions created to

‘make me better’

a need to be accepted for my flaws

not to be esteemed so highly

not to be above yours

you think; to me this is a game

but my heartbeat is not a book

it is not movement in frames

x

where is my worth?

what am I expected to gain?

I bleed crimson

my blood too leaves a stain

stop.

compressing

stop.

expecting

stop.

confining me

to a number,

stop

and for once listen

to me cry

imperfection.

x

but an end is there

a voice for me to stop,

to stop believing that I am defined by a letter.

I am not labelled by ink on parchment

but by the title I carry

“chosen”

“loved”

“approved”

“empowered”

“enough”.

-n.t

13.12.16

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

Isaiah 43:1

Daughter of the Most High.

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