The niggling worms of self-doubt bore their way into my brain.
My insecurities ferment and take flight,
like winged crows cawing shrilly in the gray air,
wanting someone to take notice of my flight,
leaving only a trail of spent feathers in my wake.
I fly alone, shunned by my kind.
My avian fellows do not crane their feathered necks
to take note of my loop-di-loops and figure-eights.
It impresses no one other than me.
The urge for attention shames me.
I duck behind a cloud.
Despair plagues me and I weep.
Dusky tears shed for mine own sake.
And I'm filled with the smallness of me.
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