I hate cake

I am not scared. Not scared that I might become one of them. Not scared that what they say is true. Not scared that I fall among the statistics. Not scared that who or what I know I am is not known to those that claim to know me. Not scared of laying claim to those who claim to love me. Not scared that the truth has already infiltrated this life. Not scared that I am lying to myself.
There, I've said it.
I am not scared.
Then what the hell is it?
What am I/is it that makes me think this much when all I want to do is feel, love and live? How do I exist with this feeling of my chest yearning to burst open yet I stand crest-fallen? Dynamite detonates deep within what is growing to be a very thick, relentless, indestructible vault. It was like this a long time ago.
I am not scared. I am not the slightest bit hesitant. I may even be too damn patient. What right is there that I should not claim my own rights? It should not be like this. It is not supposed to be this hard. All the time. Now.
I am not scared...
I am angry.
But my anger is the quick, destructive, terminal kind. There are no back steps, after my first step forward. There is no do over. There is no room for regret.
I am scared.
Scared that I might be angry.
I hate £*@!ing cake.