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Anxiety, is what?
Ever form-changing, space-consuming.
Like angry waves crashing against the
shores of my heart.
Like a thick veil of mist, around the places once loved; crowded before, but no more.
Like ink or fresh scarlet wounds on pale skin; so apparent and yet, much concealed.
Like water droplets that fall from the roof;
not quite so intimidating but-
it had rained so much.
Or maybe it is a sly shadow,
skilled at sneaking into unsuspecting hearts. I'm not quite sure how it sneaked into mine.
All I know: It is there, changing forms, consuming all the space until I'm choking.
Is this anxiety?
Must be.
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أنت تقرأ
The Beauty Of Imperfection | a poetry collection
الشعرA poetry collection about the emotions and thoughts I have as I go through the journey of growth and accepting the imperfections, in me and in my poetry. It is all about searching for meaning in what seems mundane at first glance, and seeing the b...
