She did think, at times, that she wouldn’t make it,

Could hardly even take it,

However, she knew she had the potential to flourish,

Seeing as it was her nature to nourish,

But there was something about this doubt,

Judging by the amount,

She just couldn’t shake it.

Sometimes she would panic,

Words turn into static,

A certain lump weighs heavy on the chest,

A certain shortness of breath clenching at her breast,

Could she define,

Something done with such refine,

Raw and beyond illusion,

An unnatural feeling of confusion,

Sets in without mention,

Bringing to mind more upon more a question,

As if there were a section,

Dedicated to questions and doubt,

That begin to sprout,

And like a weed,

Take over from the original seed.