prolific self-pity

i'm scared of something.

this is something i've faced quite a few times in the past. something that i let bite and claw at me. i still walk out of what i deem a lion's den with multiple scratches that have faded, but that my superego refuses to let completely heal. you'd think one more time in would see me brave it, but no. i'm still afraid.

because i'm always the one that comes clean, and i always let myself down and get hurt. i take it, trembling and weak in the knees, because i believe that it will make me stronger. and i'm sure it has; i can feel some semblence of courage simmering somewhere in that swirling mess i call a psyche. but i'm still hesitant, because out of all the complicated lions, you had to slink in at this moment in my life, and be the most complicated one. i can't tell if you're growling or purring; are you circling me because it's in your nature, or because i'm a formidable opponent of sorts?

either claw me now or pin me to the ground in dumbfounded silence, because i have a feeling disclosure is making its way towards the surface, from my mouth. i'm not even sure whether it will be a plea or a downright statement, but it mightn't be long.

knowing the lions in the past, it probably shouldn't be that long.

-d