He asked her what it's like living with anxiety.

She smiled sadly, "It's a never-ending pulse-race. Like knowing you don't want to jump off a cliff but not being able to talk yourself down from it.

Your fears take on a nebulous, unidentifiable form that tightens around your throat and incapacitates you.

There is no calm. No peace. Only the edge of a very strained thread."

I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.

Brain, brain go away
Don't want to listen one more day
Already lonely and afraid
Feel insecure and full of shame

Brain, brain don't act this way
You're always angry; Filled with hate
You know we're joined; Can't separate
Yourself your punching in the face

Brain, brain what can I say
To make it so you see things straight
Don't know how much more I can take
Of constant warring and debate

Brain, brain it's getting late
This journey's not some endless race
Life's flying by and at this pace
Forget a win; Not gonna place

Brain, brain let's medicate
I'll feed you drugs and we'll sedate
The only way to mitigate
Discrepancies we generate

Brain, brain we sadly waste
This outcome feels like it was fate
But never was there a sealed date
Fulfilling what we self-create

Brain, brain so much we faced
Success so close could almost taste
Instead our tail we always chased
We'll die alone sad and disgraced

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

I’m tired
My body is tired
All I want to do is sleep
My soul has been dragged through
The streets
Being stomped on, spit on, set ablaze
By everyone I’ve wronged
They put me in vines
Over time
Over growth
I just become another
Piece of the forest…

Upon the night the poet writes,
within my darkened room
under candlelight all is revealed.

From my ink comes black and blue, with bruises from my passed I stain these walls.

Memories never leave me,
pain and suffering is like a
shadow always following me.

Writing is a release, a bandaid
to help me heal.

These emotional hills are a
struggle to claim, but I grew bat
wings so watch me fly.

©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton

For years the anxiety has built up,
every time I spoke the words were on the edge of my tongue,
I could almost say them,
but the pressure hadn't built up enough.
There was too much going on,
relatives dying,
the world changing for the worse,
having the front seat to imploding relationships,
It was never the right time.
Until one day, it poured out as if a dam had broken.
The confessions and yearning for love rushed out like a tsunami,
to Hell with the consequences and imploded relationships.
Yet, it didn't end like that.
No, the relationships stayed intact, just abrasive.
Seemingly harmless, until the words rub like saltwater raw in the ceaseless wounds.

Another year goes by...
With some tears,
Some regrets,
And some memories which I hold on tight...