Dear Poetry; With Love, Anxiety

Nutrition

It's getting darker.

The moon has risen and I'm starting to talk to myself.

I tend to voice my worries best when I can't see

because the darkness blinds me.

It wraps me up in a tight blanket of black like a swaddled child.

The selfish feeling of having everything revolve around

me.

Do you understand, little flower?

It reminds me of home.

Not the building,

but the feeling

of speaking to another human being

who can share the same opinion, same emotions.

A soul I can rely on

and who might listen

to my needless worries and careless needs.

So voice your concerns to me, little flower, and I'll help you grow,

but once you learn to fly I'll have to step back,

because gardens are a give and take community

and you can't eat without giving up some cash.

So plant your roots in this concrete jungle, little flower, and entertain the crowd

because it's as clear as day but so late at night;

I can tell that nothing progresses without selflessness

and sometimes that selflessness is taken for granted.

But please rely on me little flower,

and I'll feed you.