Being Brave

In school I was timid,

feeling my heart pounding in my chest

and blood rushing to my cheeks,

as my turn to speak up in class, snuck closer.

I’d revise what I had to say,

from the first sentence to the last word.

My hands would become clammy with cold sweat,

as I gripped and tugged on my favorite jacket.

When my turn would fall upon me,

I’d flinch at the sound of my name,

almost as if it had attacked me.

I would feel the expecting stares upon my back,

as my heart comes to a stop, in fear.

In the end, I never speak.

It was always the same routine.

The tears would fall down my cheeks,

as my anxiety takes hold of my delicate heart and mind.

I would hear fantasy laughter

and see imaginary people cruelly pointing at me,

for my stupid show of weakness.

The teacher would eventually take pity

and allow me to go back to my seat.

The others asking if I was, once again, okay.

Well, a couple years have passed,

and I have gotten better.

I still freak out at times,

but at least now, I am willing to give it a try.

Sometimes, I even quietly speak!

Everything would eventually just come out.

It all came out from a pencil on paper.

My fears, hopes, and even dreams.

It was my turn to finally,

come out in the spotlight.

To finally, be brave.

Inspired by: Keven Carey’s, Getting it Right