anxiety is that pimply bastard from high school
who reminds you of every embarrassing thing
you’ve ever done
swirling your head in the toilet of shame
while laughing maniacally at your pathetic attempts
to deter him with rationalizations and deep breathing.
anxiety becomes the hurricane tide
that churns and swirls
the narrative in your head —
life vests and rafts are no match for a tsunami.
anxiety is the stitchings of a blanket:
a few bad times here and there
sewn into the patchwork of the happy and clear.
anxiety is the massive trees
that blind you to the rest of the forest.