S p a c e s

I wanna be great.

You see-

there is quite a bit to do.

So when anxiety

b r e a k s      the rules,

I want a redo.

A we do.

A..

she does everything,
And isn’t she damn sexy?

Yet, sexy isn’t this look

The stains of salt drenched cheeks,

Carved by the ache of tears,
And a chestsotightitcan’tbreath,

Brought on by FEARS.
No,

I wish I had been given a different role in this big motion picture.
But instead I will press a hot mug into her hand as they tremble.

((This her: myself: my only friend. ))

Ssssh, its going to be fine.

Honey, just breathe. You’re not alone.

You just are

 

 

I wrote this poem following an anxiety attack. I used to love writing poetry in particular form-so there was no way to read it besides the way I painted it, with vibrant strokes of commas, semicolons, and spaces.. I suppose I still do.

Someone reminded me of these pages, this blog of mine- just the other day. They actually shared how great it was to read someone elses take on anxiety.

Yes, I would agree with that. I often am the recipient of a great community’s honesty. Honesty.. its often confused with complaining or selfishness or weakness. But to me, it makes things okay.

Too often, I am told that I am well put together; strong; a special person; an old soul. These things, they may be true, but they are not complete. The world doesn’t treat me any different, and my anxiety sure as heck doesn’t ease up. In fact, I find that I often lack a comfort given to those who are more outwardly struggling, not to their blame. Its a comfort I believe all should recieve, regardless of circumstance. Compassion.

I don’t know what I am saying- other than that I am human. And maybe that is sometimes the hardest thing of all to say. Especially after an anxiety attack.

But hey, I will still love you.

 

 

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