The thing about anxiety is

I may look fine from the outside, but

On the inside I am erupting like a volcano.

Except I do not get the privilege

To explode in public.

 I am forced to hide the bubbling emotions

That try to break through my skin,

To burn my exterior so people will know

That I am not static,

That my energy is kinetic.

 

And if you look at me

From across the room

You will see a girl, head down, picking off

Her finger nail polish, periodically looking up

At the teacher so he doesn't

Call out on her,

So he thinks

She’s paying attention.

But there's so much more to it.

 

If you look at me from across the room

What you won't see is that

My whole body is being affected by an

Uncontrollable tremor,

And I cannot steady my hands long enough

To pick up a pencil. You won't see that I am

Picking my nail polish off because I've been trying to stop

Biting my nails for God knows how long,

But I can't,

I can't because my whole body is shaking, not because

The room is cold, but because

My thoughts won't stay still.

 

You won't see that behind the hair that

Falls over my face, that I am trying to

Suppress the feelings that are boiling inside of me.

 

You won't see that I'm looking from

My desk to my hands

To the teacher to the window

To the teacher to my desk to

My hands

To the teacher to the window

To the teacher to the window to

My hands and

Dammit

It happened again.

And now my hands are just another reminder of

How I damage everything I touch.

 

The thing about anxiety is some people can see it,

Some people see that my hands are not physically able

To level themselves flat in the air,

But they believe me when I say,

"I just have shaky hands."