A Delicate Hostage

Fear is the shadow I cradle at dawn,
it slips in my coffee, it hums in my bones —
a murmuring ghost behind every closed door,
softly insisting I’m never alone.

Ego, my armor, so brittle yet grand,
blooms like a thorned rose in trembling hands.
It shouts over whispers of doubt in the night,
while anxiety threads its needles inside.

I walk like a garden where storms never rest,
I speak like a child with truth on my chest,
but deep in my veins, a battle unwinds —
fear feeds my ego, which feeds my mind.

Oh, what a tangle: a crown made of dread,
a kingdom of sighs where my courage has fled.
Yet dawn after dawn, I breathe and begin —
a delicate hostage still daring to win.

by Onnaya