Ode To My Panic Attack

Dear, Lady Who Told Me to "Get it Together"


Nobody tells you how sharp it feels,

like a chord

snapping and curling up on the e-string of a violin,

how it means walking on the eggshells 

you just used to make your favorite dessert

and waking up gasping for air every morning 

with that pain underneath your rib cage thinking,

this is it, this is the end.

Nobody tells you how tough it is, like sore muscles and stiff jaws,

like sandpaper scrubbed across the back of your eyelids 

as you struggle to stay up, 

because why risk a nightmare 

when you could vomit galaxies and stardust into paper with only a journal and some secrets.

Nobody tells you how much it burns

like staring into the sun even though you risk going blind 

and your eyes are watering and burning

but you can't stop because it makes art underneath your eyelids

like your screen turned up all the way in the middle of the night,

like the hot blue burst of flame, or a firework as you realize, 

maybe this is for real this time, maybe this is the worst day of my life.

Nobody tells you how scary it is 

like the mili-seconds before you hit the ground,

after tripping over your own words.

Nobody tells you how it ends, because you can never really tell.

The crushing weight on your chest never lifts,

just moves to your shoulders and rests there until the next episode.

The terror sinks to the base of your throat

like an anchor of a ship

and the anxious pangs are as common as your steady breathing.

Nobody tells you about how you can't shrug it off,

that it's gripping like a noose or fist, or some other deadly weapon,

that it is not the shock of cold water, but the beast that drags you underneath.



The Girl Who's Been Trying for Years


This poem is about: 


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