I used to be afraid of breaking my mother’s back
So I stepped over every visible crack.
I used to be afraid of hurting my brother’s spine
So I walked around the tiled floor’s line.
I used to be afraid of putting on a show.
So I clutched the curtains and didn’t let go.
I used to be afraid of making a speech
So I hid behind the podium, holding in a screech.
I used to be afraid of falling asleep
So I prayed to the angels, my soul they would keep
I used to be afraid of monsters under my bed
So I curled up in my blanket, to alleviate my dread.
I used to be afraid of death itself.
So I hid my knife in my kitchen’s shelf.