If I Had Been Fearless
If I had been fearless,
I wonder who I would be.
Maybe I would have stood taller,
spoken louder,
taken up space like I deserved to be there—
not as an apology,
not as a question,
but as a certainty,
as something unshakable,
as someone unafraid.
Maybe I would have run headfirst into the fire,
instead of standing at the edge,
hands shaking,
wondering if I belonged among the flames.
Maybe I would have written without second-guessing,
without whispering to myself, who do you think you are?
without deleting, without doubting,
without drowning in the weight of my own hesitation.
Maybe I would have chased every dream the moment it called,
instead of waiting,
watching,
wondering if I was allowed to want them.
If I had been fearless,
I wouldn’t have let the voices win—
the ones that told me I wasn’t enough,
the ones that filled my lungs with doubt
until I could barely breathe.
I wouldn’t have let fear wrap its hands around my throat,
silencing me before I ever spoke.
I wouldn’t have let shame carve its name into my skin,
a brand, a burden, a reminder
that I was too small to be anything more
than what I was told I could be.
But I wasn’t fearless.
I was afraid.
Of being too much.
Of being not enough.
Of trying and failing and proving them right.
I was afraid of the silence that followed my voice,
the echo of nothing when I reached for something more.
I was afraid of the weight of my own name,
of standing in the light and realizing
I had waited too long to claim it.
And now—
now I claw at time with desperate hands,
fingernails breaking against the years I lost.
Now, I run toward my dreams with legs too tired,
lungs burning,
choking on the dust of all the moments I let slip away.
Because now, it feels too late.
Now, I wonder if the doors have already closed,
if the roads I was meant to walk
have vanished beneath the weight of my hesitation.
Now, I wonder if I am a relic of the life I could have lived,
if I am only chasing shadows of a girl
who was never brave enough to exist.
If I had been fearless,
maybe the world would know my name.
Maybe I wouldn’t feel like a guest in my own dreams.
Maybe I wouldn’t ache with the knowledge
that I have been my own greatest cage.
But I wasn’t fearless.
And I don’t know how to forgive myself for that.
