Anxiety

For

 

I am a young woman of poise and rationality

but there are times when I'm nothing but scared.

 

People pass and go but surely they'll never know

what hides deep inside this dark and never-ending soul.

 

For it's a bomb that wants to explode.

 

It never not matters the time of day

whether it be between night and day

I'm 17 years odd

 

but sometimes I can't control.

 

I walk around with curls, rings, and makeup

while holding my head high above the sky,

almost like I have no care in the world,

yet I'm just trying to survive.

 

Every breathing, living, waking moment,

it gets harder every day.

 

Everytime I turn the page,

a new chapter begins and begins.

 

The minute I wake up.

 

The minute I feel my feet hit the ground.

 

The minute I look in the mirror.

 

The minute I step out the door.

 

The minute I take a deep breath.

 

I'm nothing but a puppet to anxiety.

 

As I start to walk away from my only lifeline of support,

 

I start to panic.

 

My heart beats so fast like an on-going drumline

My palms are sweaty and I'm shaking like a dog

The noises in my ears are like white noises playing all at once

Just like the swarm of bees around their honey covered hive

My mouth goes dry while my thoughts are racing

Almost like the final shot in a single basketball game.

 

If you take a picture of my brain,

nothing but on-going activity is happening now.

 

Why must I be a fool and lazy and dumb?

Why must I be short and fat and hidden?

 

Because all these thoughts are racing and it makes me want to SCREAM.

 

Every breathing, living, waking moment,

 

I'm scared to death to have these panic attacks 

Because all I do is think and cry and freeze

The voices are yelling and begging me to be negative

But I can't let them get to me!

 

I push through the waterfall of tears and start yelling back

 

"I don't care what you tell. I am my own person."

"You can't take control of my god given life."

 

"Because I AM A SOMEBODY."

 

Some days,

I can't breathe.

 

It's hard to focus on a lonely single task

only because my mind wanders forever

like a line I draw.

 

But some days are better.

Only because I took control

like it's the car I'm driving.

 

It's anxiety,

my living best friend.

 

Yet,

 

I'm 17 years odd

 

and sometimes,

 

I can't control.

This poem is about: 
Me
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