doubts and bubbles that burst

clear like the sun's reflection on slabs of white ice
is the doubt that has entrenched itself rather stealthily in my mind
one day I was sure as i was born that I would color along the lines I'd drawn
but the lines I drew, grew into walls until I was a frog in its little pond
the doors, the windows the ceiling of grey
the bottom of the well wherein I lay
the lies helped and became the bricks
and I drowned in words before I could breath
in a new world, the doubts still persist
and like miracle-workers quietly the fabric they unstich and  trim the edges till it becomes unrecognizable to the regular crop
of poor pitiful darlings who would have themselves trying hard to the point of being repulsive and living in the lack of true comprehension
that the doubts are important
and that once assailed, not the doubts but the feelings of surety and complacence, often displaced, they make way for change
so I think its good that the doubt gleams like soda in sunlight on my face.