Anxiety becomes me.
I cannot see
What’s in front of me.
I cannot breathe.
Anxiety badgers me.
“Get a job!” “Go to school!”
“Don’t be a dramatic fool.”
“Look within yourself,
And finally get some help.”
Anxiety disconnects me.
Don’t know what I want to be.
“You’ll fail either way.”
“Come with me and here you’ll stay.”
Anxiety taunts me.
I cry, wanting to die.
How I wish I would, sometimes.
“You’ll never be happy.”
“Nobody wants you.”
“Fight me and I’ll bite, too.”
Anxiety controls me.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to.
Don’t laugh, don’t smile.
Hide away, you useless bile.”
Anxiety becomes me.
A hopeful light,
Inspiration strikes.
“Be an artiste and paint the world.”
“Be a writer and your soul will soar.”
“Free yourself from these chains.”
I kill anxiety...
Until tomorrow begins.
About the Creator
Krysta Mangubat
All I want to do in this world is write. Even if my vocabulary, sentence structure, and other mechanisms are faulty. It’s my escape and my lifeline. I love it, plain and simple.
Keep reading
More stories from Krysta Mangubat and writers in Poets and other communities.
Depressed Thought #1
Depressed Thought #1 May 5, 2019, 7:06 am My brain is a car. It’s compacted and small, and I’m not in control of it. I can’t unlock it and free myself. I can’t stop driving whenever I want. I can’t drive it when I want. Nothing. If someone else wants to drive it, they can. Every time I’m forced to sit passenger, no matter what. Everyone I let in, I give them control of the wheel. They can blast the radio, they can roll down the windows, and interact with people outside. They can walk out whenever they feel it’s best. If they want to spend time with me, they can hop right in, kick their feet up on the dash, and recline their seat back. But when they’re done, they can just open the door and move on with their own lives. I will forever remain in this car. Jumping from seat to seat, being controlled by whoever wants my company. Eventually I will rust and be thrown into the junkyard and forgotten. Never to be loved again, never to be controlled again. Maybe then will I have my own freewill.
By Krysta Mangubat5 years ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.