Why am I.

Afraid.

Why am I afraid?

Afraid of being afraid.

Why does the fear come?

Where does it come from?

Why am I.

Afraid.

Afraid of being afraid.

Unafraid of the event.

Both before.

And after.

Yet afraid of.

Being afraid.

Of the event itself.

As far as conundrums go.

This one has me ashamed.

It has me ashamed.

Of being ashamed.

Because where is the shame?

And why feel ashamed?

I feel no shame.

For anything in particular.

Yet find myself.

Ashamed of.

Being ashamed.

And I am afraid.

And I am ashamed.

Of being afraid.

Of being ashamed.

I guess I will never know why.

Until I know how.

But until then.

I can attempt to be happy.

Because I’m happy.

I am Timi

  

– featured image is a piece by C215

– Little Green Street, Dublin, 14 September 2015 –