All of the thoughts in my head act as fog,

clarity becoming unknown to me.

Anxiety grasps its slimy fingers around my neck

whispering (lies) to me.

I'm hopeless. Helpless. Alone.

But when I hear the laughter of the people I love

or a kitten's soft mews

or pages turning in a book,

I stop.

When I smell fresh baked cookies

or my favorite perfume

or smoke from a fireplace,

I inhale.

Or when I see a drop of rain

or my purring kitten

or the smiling face of a friend,

I observe.

Everything becomes clear to me and I'm able to breathe. I'm able to write.

I am able.

And everything is alright.