Bustin’ Walls on My Way to No


It’s a big black wall—the holy mother of walls.

Fear is viscous.

It clings with tenacity.

Like a leach, it attaches to my skin, then oozes into my pores.

Doesn’t matter how many walls I bust through.

Doesn’t matter how hard I shake.

Like a recurring nightmare, fear lingers.


Meet fear’s children:




My inability to say “no.”


It is their job to keep my world small.

Make my vision myopic.

They seek to confine and restrict and dull the beauty of the world.


They don’t like it when I bust through.

Horned and barbed, they prefer me weak and small.

They laugh when I stumble.

Are annoyed when I keep going.


And I do keep going.


Will the walls ever disappear?

I don’t know.

But I can smile.

My world is expanding.

Who would’ve thought “no” could be so bright?

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