~Anxiety~

​

There’s a new fixture

Sculpted in the curve of my stomach,

Carved from the ache sustained by anxiety -

A pebble I’m forced to carry.

​

My sustenance is purged

And my substance replaced

To make space for the intrusion

As I protect the illusion that

I’m okay.

​

The stone will stay, regardless.

​

I’ve striven to sidestep

This schist of misery but

It settles idly in the bottom of my shoe

And bruises my soul

So every step I take

Might be light enough

To preserve the eggshells I’m walking on.

​

Why does this bit of rubble

Form a bubble in my chest

That holds my voice hostage

And my words bare

As I work double

To convince myself

That someone will care

Enough to trouble with my

~anxiety~

​

-s.g.

​

Other great reads:

Lovers not meant to be

a bicrocosm