Kim Nelson Writes

Moving through the heavy fog of  fear,

I am encumbered by

“What-if?”

“What now?”

“What next?”

Eyes darting, arms outstretched,

I search for safety,

Grasp for what I know.

Keenly, I listen.

And hear each sound that ere was mere white noise.

Panic sets down roots and grows.

The fog of fear moves in,

Compressing my space,

My place,

In My world.

Denser. Thicker. Fed by confusion and alarm.

Until I realize

This fog is of my own creation.

I, unprotected, unaware, let it in.

I let it thrive,

Feeding it the dung another spewed and I empowered.

But no more.

Take back your shit.

Or let it rot and spoil the world in which you live.

I, from here forward, refuse

To let

You

In.

Or let you win.

Touché.