The clay of my youthful confidence

My birthright, my sense of worth

Was fret away early on

By rivulets of tears and snot

Sourced from enthusiasms bullied and bossed

Until over time there formed

A hard-won, hard-worn chip on my shoulder

That altered my stance forever

It’s hard to be open

Holding back so much

No one can reach me

No one can hurt me

No one can touch me

But who won what, I wonder

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: fret