ANXIETY KNOWS ME

Have you ever been in a situation

Where you simply feel scared and worried

Without knowing the reason why?

Many times this is what I feel,

And this has been part of me for years.

I always think that I'm a coward

Who hides behind a pen and awkward verses,

And that my words are nothing but weak corpses

That can only lie on my tongue,

Like a body on an autopsy table.

Anxiety knows me, I'm its slave;

It makes my whole life seem like a mountain of shame

On top of a steaming pile of guilt,

'Cause everything I do seems like shit.

Even now, I'm anxious that nobody

Would adore this poem for a bit.

Which of the traumas do I have to cite?

Is it increased heart rate,

That shortens my breath and tightens my chest?

Or the nausea and lightheadedness,

That stops my feelings when I'm doing my best?

Or the obsessive, compulsive behaviours,

That makes me furious enough to fight everyone else.

Anxiety knows me, I'm its slave;

It draws me away from loving my people,

But drowns me in a pool of loneliness, depression,

And a life full of rage.

A PEN for TWO