Don't you listen to fear, sweatheart!

Don't you listen to fear, sweetheart, don't you listen when it tells you what you must be, what you can't do, what you don't know.

Who do you think you are? it says. 

Who do you think you are, to speak? 

Who do you think you are? 

And you worry you must have broken some unwritten law, crossed some boundary you never knew existed, touched something proprietary. But there is no law, not a real one, anyway, there never has been, just the heavy yoke of fear: that is your thuggish threat, your scot-free thief, the ill that hovers.

Fear is afraid of truth, you see, afraid that one day you'll take the blindfold off your eyes and see its ugliness, its greed, its petty motives.

Don't you know who you are, my love? Can't you see that brilliance reflecting from each and every one of your tears shine like a tiny sun, lighting the darkness?

Who are you to speak? fear says. 

Who gave you the privilege? 

But it is not a privilege, it's a right.

Reviews

[ReedWrite]

What a great piece.
I love the unconventional format, and the nuances of your wording, how you've painted a picture rich in imagery.
Nice job

[Francis Rosenfeld]

Thank you.