I’m afraid of my own luminosity.

I hope I can share one of my insecurities with the masses.


Even now, my hands hesitate to write this.


But please—tune your souls to me.

I’m afraid.


Afraid of my own luminosity, my own potential, my own greatness.


I’m rich in effort, but poor in mindset.


I guess being raised on welfare and food stamps—borderline poverty—
Does that to a bean.

I stay quiet,


Afraid to stand out too much.


I do things halfway, partially,


This is so unlike Small Me.


The Small Me who was loud in elementary school,


Screaming like a Super Saiyan,


Fearless, hand raised high—


Ready to give it my best shot.


Back then, I was proud of my efforts.


I loved that boy.


I left him alone somewhere along the road.


But through these words…


I see him in the distance, running full throttle back to me.

Small Me is proud I dodged poverty,


But annoyed that I measure success by the commas in my bank account.

I can’t believe I wrote that.


But you know what?


I’m not afraid of the judgment.

It’s time I flip the script.


Change the lens.


I’ve held the wrong philosophy for too long,


But I can’t do it alone.

I ask God:


Open the aperture, slow the shutter speed,


Let me bathe in purpose—


Not mortal profits.

I know I can rewrite this poor story.


Let the currency of my effort


Become my family’s inheritance.

I want to represent the family.


So with these words,


I pull a thorn from my soul.


I remind myself to take my B+ blood seriously.

Everything I need is within me.

I promise, moving forward, I won’t do anything partially.


Success is in the effort.