anxiety

a poem

having anxiety feels like

a pot of boiling water

some days

the water is at a low simmer

bubbles forming, not quite still.

come to think of it,

is the water ever still?

today

the pot was boiling

overflowing

frothing over the sides,

splashing onto the stove top.

anxiety is like

a buzz in your head

each bee a thought

clear that clutter over there

and

wash your hair

and

will you be good enough today?

the buzzes intensify

they’re all at once

a hive

yet no honey is made

not the sweet, thick kind

no,

the viscosity is all wrong.

anxiety feels like

everything is wrong

with you

the past

the present

and don’t even get me started

on the future

what anxiety serves to protect

to ponder

question

what if

this

and what if

that

until you’ve exhausted all your options

and nothing, no version of yourself

feels right.

i have anxiety

and it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin

tuck my head in the crook of a loved one’s neck

and stay there,

forever.

there is never no noise

and all i want is peace and quiet.

i wonder why i’m like this

is it my genes

my environment

society and culture

or simply

me?

i have anxiety

and i am all over the place

a pot of boiling water, always spilling over

no matter how hard i try to turn down the gas.

but at least my pot is full

with something:

feeling.