Doubt's Big Hairy Behind by Angela Scott

Doubt tiptoes its way inside.

Subtle.

Sneaky.

Before I know it,

Doubt blindsides me,

Takes me down,

Pins me to the ground

And flops its big hairy behind

On top of my chest.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

I spit in doubts eye—my only defense--

But doubt only grins through its pock-marked face,

And green-tinged smile, and swipes the spittle away.

He’s experienced worse.

Doubt’s got me

And he knows it too.

My gnat-like strength is waning.

My belief is gone.

I shift a little,

Make adjustments to carry Doubt’s weight.

He’s not going anywhere.

That’s perfectly clear.

So I may as well get comfortable.