into the becoming

Sometimes I open up a page to write, because I can feel words bubbling to the surface...but the bubbles never pop. Or...they do, but they burn like boiling water, and I snatch my hand away and scowl at the page.

I'm not sure which it is right now. I feel like I have so much to say, but...maybe there's just too much, and like a crowded elevator, everyone's trying to get off at once and it creates a bottleneck.

I have a lot of fear in me about a lot of different subjects, I think. I've always had to tiptoe around fear and sort of approach it in smaller and smaller circles. Maybe I just haven't reached the smallest circle yet.