I am not at all trendy

In fact I’ve fracked

more than my fair share

of high pressure anxiety attacks

 

Fashioning a frantic fever

I just can’t sweat

Despite my palms

leaking buckets and my attempts

to count to three, breathe in

or “just let things be”

 

Subscribing to spam mail

in the form of my peers encouraging 

my paranoia is just 

a surreal mental playing field

My thoughts not ideal

and my struggles invalid

due to the lack of rationality

to the scenarios I’ve imagined

 

Manifesting the feelings

much akin to the aversion

of staged haunted houses

Heart fluttering responses

despite the absurdity or knowledge

that it will all be alright

 

You’d think think with this much fright

I’d be bounded to timid actions

or even worse 

a half lived life

Yet it’s empowering to admit

my objectivity to be ‘fixed’

A functioning ruminating wreck

 

I am anxious

I am not at all trendy

but that doesn’t mean

I can't wear my insecurities on my sleeve

I own my oppressions

a paradoxical permanent digression

I am fine

I am me