Insecure

The writhing larvae of self-doubt bore their way into my brain.
My insecurities metamorphosize and take flight,
leaving a trail of waste in their wake.
I crave reassurance and it shames me,
despair plagues me and I weep.
Musky tears shed for no sake but my own.
I am overwhelmed by the smallness of my will.

You are my perfection, the cornerstone of my heart.
Yet I cannot dig deep enough.
I have sought within my soul,
seeking the light of faith,
but it is dimmed by specters of the past
-- yours and mine.

It's like rocks in my pockets, dragging me down to drown.
And I gag, choking on my own words,
as I bite my tongue -- allowing the doubt to ferment,
burning inside my stomach, manifesting themselves as tears.
I don't wish to question you or challenge your word,
for I've no reason to.

You are wholly open with me,
but there are voices that whisper in my head,
"How would you know?"
And it is not fair.

How do I rid myself of my insecurity?