I am able to choose if I would like to share a story, or poetry, or perhaps a quote, and yet here I am, unable to choose a sentence to say to another. A haze of self doubt creeps up to me as I am to interact with anyone except a handful of people. I am an angel for I was born from star dust and yet I am unable to string sentences together. Cursed for my eternity on Earth to self doubt, I must carry on slashing the cobwebs which lay to rest on my voice, for I want to speak, I want to interact like everyone else. I want to live.
The moment my voice is loosened, I hear not myself but an imposter, for only a sliver of what I am dares show its soul.
Solitude does not give rise to such dilemmas, and so that is why I find my comfort in a book and a cup of coffee.
© BellaSparkles