The Parade I Do Not See

I’ve fully formed my fears,
Stuffed them with anxious bulk,
Plumped phantom catastrophes real.
They surround me, many and massive.
I can’t see past them, and so
I’m blind to the grand parade
Of joys and contentment
Of success and fulfillment
That passes just beyond
The fears I granted reality.

Sometimes, poetry is about explaining yourself to the world in the hopes the world won’t find you as ridiculous as you think you are.