(Hi! In this piece of writing, I use the singular 'they' to refer to one person, the subject of the poem, who has anxiety. I did this to keep the person's gender neutral. If this is confusing to anyone, sorry! The group of friends is never referred to with 'they', so maybe that will help to distinguish the subjects.)

 

HEADLINE: Sweating, shaking, escalating-

Local human sprinkler joins throng of state fair attendees!

A conga line of steadfast giggling drunk-on-confidence youths and one flamingo, stiff pink sitting outside group of grasshopper legs, tween at jesus camp once again, filter-feeding shelled babies under brown lake water as kids group together climbing rocks far away

Regretting they came

 

As if apart from reason, baby oil to flame, water to ink, their brain is 1000mph in a parking lot swarmed with cars

Ostrich head in hole speaks pecking at hard earth, "Have I had enough coffee no I have not had enough coffee"

In seconds flat, ears wringing, hands singing, teeth chattering

A horse neighs loud and scrapes the gravel ground with its hooves for a cup of Average Joe, concession stand manger (Hundreds of racehorses die on the agoraphobia-track each year)

Dancing pupils, laughing peers and eleven "Howdy y'all"s are enough to have me in the bathroom, vomitus, party-ruiner 3000

 

The metamorphosis metaphors, speeding-bullet like comes to a halt in front of the face of calm hand, warm hearted friend before eyes, whispering comforts, welcome distraction from overwhelming size of crowd, tumble of excuses straightened out for steady analyzation once more

The reason there is less knowledge, more pill bottle, concerning social anxiety disorders, is that the people with them are too anxious about whether or not they're present and true enough speak through them, about them, validity in itself I think

Holding cue cards, melting pot nervous, fumbling sweating rare and foreign cheese (thanks Eminem for that food-nervousness-comparison inspiration)

 

Tank engine emotional stalling, they are a nervous system yet again, on the interstate with no spare tires or working brake

At the sight of older fellas from school, packed together yelling raccoon-dogs holding girls interested in the slightest

The rescue squad is areyougood pack, busy as africanized honey bees, (which will kill themselves in an attempt at some human interaction), they're headed to the Texas butterfly gardens to 'just chill out, guy'

On a water fountain bigger than confidence, which is starting to look like their golden gate bridge, they're stewing in their boiling bee-abandoned blood when a Small Postman settles light on their shoulder

From self-cook bbq roast to distraction reverie, their new life goal is to find all the butterflies in the guide and shake antennas with them. Alien world far from sticky candy and bright light, they've won a kind of confidence akin to a lonely researcher deep in jungle

Hours pass, and back in the stuffed-animal struck by a dart for award atmosphere, they're headed toward their limp-legged friends with the kind of bliss accomplishment gives those given a task the equivalent of churning butter (metaphysically speaking)

 

Their out of body butterfly experience ends at the voice of God

In avalanche of bodies once more, this time with sugar on a stick and apimania-c confidence, 

Listening to the drone of southern belles when His voice booms loud overhead

"Welcome to Texas!" They are fog-horn-leg-horn  granddaughter howling with laughter

At the feet of Big Tex, who they didn't realize would be great booming voice company

In the south, there is often hateful stranger, assumption a deterrent 
There is an invisible hand of fear pushing people indoors

DON'T BE NERVOUS: In confidence there is a well-housed love,

And friends are all you need

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