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by Scarlett Catanzaro
I started somewhere,
looking ahead with blurry vision and sweaty palms
The steps forward seemingly impossible
The past taunting
A sick, oily feeling of fear sets in
Still, I continued to move forward
now far from where I started but still not where I want to be
The fear is growing
Anxiety beckons me to give in
Steps forward become steps backward
The start no longer a start but now a midpoint
Where am I going?
What am I doing?
The end point still so far away
What’s the point?
Why continue moving forward when all I can seem to do is go backwards?
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