Wonder if writing a letter to my eleven-year-old-self would help. Or talking to her in meditation. Her fears come out in crowds of people I half-know, the fear of being friendly for feeling I am automatically a burden on people or something, like I’m still a Bible-thumping spelling-bee winner who wants to tell them about Jesus– no one ever wants to be told about Jesus against her will.
In moments of paralyzing self-doubt, I forget how to form sentences, make associations, be funny– it all gels in my poems but scatters in my vocal cords.
I wish I were endlessly cool, instead I’m endlessly hesitant.
Is this entry an apology? To who?
