My anxiety claws its way up from my stomach to my chest,
makes a pit stop to sit heavily when I breathe,
when it senses I am tensing it rises further to my throat so that when I speak,
I know I am in its company;

My anxiety demands respect
it demands to be heard,
it demands to be felt,
it demands to be seen
so that when I take deep breaths and my eyes dart around
at every exit, every window, every glass of water
everyone will feel that something is wrong
leaving me no choice but to excuse myself
leave the room
and wallow in the comfort of my racing thoughts, listing the things I see, feel, smell, taste and praying
that the invitation to the mental health ball in my head
will expire soon

tell me

how do I become someone's home

when I am all sticks and stones and poor timing

clumsiness held together by suppressed trauma

held back by a dam

I am both the skilled architect and the drunk contractor of my body

my memory has neighbourhoods inside of it each designed to cater to every occasion

tell me

where do I find the house known as me for you

in what neighbourhood do I search

I can't remember the last time I have held onto something

as unfamiliar as being loved back

what I'm trying to say is that

I don't know if I can be a house

but I can be the warm light that somehow takes you through the darkest days

I can be the worn out blanket that holds its charm with a little help of softener

I can be the go-to mug, with spots from over-use and poor maintenance but volume big enough for a comfort drink

I don't know if I can be a house

but I will take my limbs, my bones, my skin

and one by one

become a safe space

god am i scared

but amidst the touches that linger longer and longer

and the butterflies in my stomach when i come up to kiss you

amidst the way that you say i love you and really mean it

and the way i rush back to you after every event like a butterfly to the light

i realise

that letting you love me

was the best decision i've ever made