It’s like an intense inner dialogue.

“Do this!”, “Do that!”, “Not like this”.

“You should wait, maybe the best is yet to come”.

The consequences seem too big.

In the end, I do nothing, stay stuck.

 

Everyday, like clockwork, the parts chyme in.

I hear “the Procrastinator” insist that we don’t move,

“The Young Girl” lies rolled in her comforter waiting,

She has never felt that doing anything mattered.

Or maybe everything mattered just too much.

 

“The Fright” tenses her body as she hears herself say,

her voice inaudible but to herself, like a murmur,

“I want to matter”.