It may be the runaway unquiet thoughts,
a thumping-heart dizzying mess
the gastrointestinals tied up in knots,
inconvenient reaction to stress
It may be the habit of memories plucked,
(and the negative parts ruminated)
laying raw the bad feelings, handily tucked
in gray matter where joy once located
It may be the walls that spring up unseen,
the rules the mind seeks to impinge
while desperately functioning (don’t make a scene)
(no-one wants to see you unhinge)
It may be the prison of panic held tight,
in attempt to avoid suffocation
running short of air is a continual fight,
running negative thoughts – ideation!
All of these things (and more) fight for the mind,
apprehension placed high on a tower
the battles within are morose and unkind
and outwardly lived hour by hour
by Melissa Kro.
Anxiety is a trickster, a cunning liar, and a thief of power.