I think the best way that I can describe anxiety is that it’s always there in the back of your mind, in the pit of your stomach, in the lump in your throat, even when you’re smiling or laughing or dancing or running.
It isn’t bigger than everything else you’re doing but it feels like it. It’s like a parasite, this small thing that has the ability to completely take over your body whenever it feels like it.
It doesn’t matter what mood you are, all you can ever feel is “anxious,” which might be mixed with other emotions but really, when you feel it, nothing else can matter. It forces it’s way to the front line and pushes everything else aside.
It changes the way you see things like the sun and the flowers and the buildings and it changes the way you hear things like your favourite song and the sound of the subway arriving and the wail of a siren. The sun is too bright and the flowers remind you that things around you are growing but you are not, and the buildings just confirm that everything in this world is so much bigger than you and your small problems, and your favourite song just makes you cry and the subway makes you miss home and the sirens make you long to be back home where you could hear crickets and rain and silence.
Anxiety makes everything bigger and more complex than it was ever meant to be, but all you can do is live with it and stay away from busy intersections and isolated alleys and roof edges and try not to cry in public and just hold it together.
What else can you do?

My fingers glide over the keys
like somebody slipping into a silk nightgown,
The accents are of popping corn
and the scales are oily like french fries.

My body surges with intensity
because music has the tendency to
move me.
I sway back and forth
like a weak palm tree
on a gusty Florida beach.

Glassy and sparkling with passion,
my eyes devour the pages of
speckled black and white
desperately hoping that
whoever hears my playing
will feel the same pleasure I feel.

Dost thou even go here?
Can thou even read?
Doth thou know the website thou art on?
Poetry be what we breed!

Ye foolish man!
Ye simpleton!
From whom unrefinement flows!
Thou shalt not write,
On a poetry site,
A work of ****** prose!

Oh yeah? Watch me.

Hello beautiful people. I'm in the mood to philosophize. And this being a poetry site, let's make the topic poetry. (WARNING: this piece will be filled with opinions, personal beliefs, and probably a little butter. If you don't agree with anything I say, good for you. Way to have opinions. AND WHATEVER YOU DO. DON'T SUBSTITUTE MARGARINE FOR THE BUTTER!) Ok, so poetry. I like poetry. And since I'm the one writing this, I'm gonna tell you about my philosophy, and my personal style and influences.
My philosophy that I try to live by is minimalism. Which is NOT laziness! Minimalism is quite difficult really. Anyone can write a nice fluffy poem (and yes, nice fluffy poems can be dark pieces about death and the like.) What minimalism is to me,  is the stripping away of all of that fluff to get down to the raw emotion of a piece. An abundance of words pollutes the emotion.
Now, my stylistic mumbo jumbo. My aesthetic has gone through a few phases. A lot of my work is very modernist. What that means is that it deals a lot with... well with failure. Failure of the human race, failure of people, and my own personal failure. But also with separation. Some prime examples of my modernist works are  "here I lay a martyr" and "of my faults and follies"
The next phase is when I started writing music for my band (Bisclaveret Marie, we're on Facebook. Check it out.) I became enamored with a man by the name of Jack White. (yes, that Jack White. The one formerly of the White Stripes.) Also the source of my minimalist approach, Jack revived my love for the Blues. When that came crashing into my poetry, it was definitely for the better.
The next phase was surrealism. The use of images and metaphors and weirdness to paint a picture of the emotion I choose to write about. (I don't really know how to describe this, just go read Though There Be Dragons, A Journey Through The Mind of a Madman. It'll make more sense.)
And most recently the Blues have seen a renaissance in my work. The simple lyric structures and rhyme patterns tickle my inner minimalist.
Yeah, so that's my spiel. If you actually read this, you freaking deserve a medal