Fear Itself Is Undefined – Kelebohile Moloi

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears;

 I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.

Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?

Is it the mistakes that I’ve made or the fact that I can’t bring the past back?

 What is it that I’m afraid of?

 Why am I so scared?

 Is it the people I’ve hurt or the people that have hurt me?

Am I afraid of everything that I can’t seem to see?

 Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?

 Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?

What is it that I fear most?

What do my eyes say I’m scared of?

 Is it the sun that sets but won’t seem to rise?

 Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?

 Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?

Is it all the memories of my horrid past? Is it me?

 Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can’t be?

 The things that I try to understand?

The me that I try to be with when I’m feeling sad?

 The person I’m expected to be? Is that what I fear?

 . . . I think the thing I fear most . . . is me

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