Fear is the enemy,

The mould spoiling the perfectly picked fruits of your talent.

You know that you can sing,

But perhaps there is another song, better sung, so why sing yours?

You know that you can paint,

But perhaps there another work better begun, so why start yours?

You know that you can speak, but perhaps there is another thought, that is truly deep, so why speak yours?

You know that you can love, but perhaps there is another love better from before, so why hope for more?

Do you see what fear can do?

It takes away choice. Not only that, but it stalks, then steals, then steels the heart.

You could love, but perhaps if you open your heart, it will be bruised or bashed or torn in two? So why look for love? Why love what is there in front of you?

Why? Why? Why?

Love is so essential to everything that it is about being –

Fear is not being, not doing.

Fear whispers in your ear….better to settle from something “safe” than dare to be reckless and run to the real thing, what if you look like a fool? If you fail? If you end up a lone? No one is a lone that too is a choice, a lie, love is community. We are all free to love.

Whilst you paddle in the shoals of “like” and “quite fancy”, you know you’ll never drown in the depths of love, if you feel safe. Yet you are already dying, dead, killing the dream that is reality.

Love then is the opposite of fear.

It is all in all, surrounding and suffusing everything.

To run from love is to die, to let the fruit spoil on your table.

Lance the boil of fear from your life,

Each time it rears up, ruthlessly, rip it out.

See it now for what it is. Not choice, not control, but consuming consumerism,

Septic, suffocating, spoiling everything.

Me, modeling? Toying with it, but fearful of the top talent spotters, what if I wasn’t thin, wrinkle-free, too old already at 18, 19, 23?

Such perfectionism good in songwriting, lethal in love or life.

Age has brought risk taking too, I no longer mind the lines - they tell a journey of time.

Now I jump the waves of love, let the emotions suck me in,

But do not give in to feelings,

For love is not a feeling, it is action.

It is singing, dancing, talking - writing this.

Putting to paper thoughts that can be ridiculed, refused, rebuked by readers,

But hoping against hope that these imperfect words will encourage, courage.

Leaving you now knowing that life lived with love can be lost, but like a seed dying in the ground,

Love can grow once more and be re-found.