My anxiety is not me.

My anxiety is shaking hands.
My anxiety is imaginative.
My anxiety is sleepless nights.
My anxiety is never satisfied.

My anxiety sits on my shoulder.

My anxiety keeps me from making important phone calls.
My anxiety forces me to want to isolate myself.
My anxiety makes me cry over nothing.
My anxiety makes me cry over everything.
My anxiety tells me a C may as well be an F.
But my anxiety forces me to avoid important tasks I have to deal with. Everything scares me.

What am I so scared of?

My anxiety wakes me up vomiting.
My anxiety forces me to pull away from the people I so badly want to fall into.
My anxiety keeps me from living.

My anxiety makes me at least two to twenty minutes late everywhere because I don’t believe I am ever prepared,
so I have to retrace my every other step,
constantly checking and re checking.
Constantly doubting.

My anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through my mind.
My anxiety is a menace, a monster, a fish with teeth,
black yarn, lawn chairs sinking in the sand.

My anxiety rules me.

it's nights like these
that my mind becomes my own worst enemy.

when i put on a rope necklace,
and pour myself a tall glass of bleach.

imagining what it would be like to have all the pain stop,
and for the static noise to be silent for once.

it's enough for me to go through the motions,
preparing to end it all.

but i wake up from my trance each time,
realizing the truth of the world.

i undo the clasp of my necklace of rope,
and pour the bleach down a drain.

the razor blades go back in the drawer,
and the pills back in the bottle.

waiting until next time.

it's nights like these where i almost do...
but don't.

So tell me what was she to you? Was she your escape from the pain and the reality you called life. Was she the person you turned to when your hormones ran wild. She was a good girl, faithful, yet you had no intentions of making her your wife. You made it clear that wanted her body, but where in the sequence of your wants was her mind? Tell me, does your heart race and thoughts excite when you captivate the depths of her mind, or is that just when your deep in between her thighs? Did you ever stop to realise, she tried loving you with her pieces of shattered heart. Could you see that behind her smile was scars. Perhaps you were just blind or the shades that covered your eyes were to dark for you to realise. Didn't you see your future when you looked into her eyes. Couldn't you see that her love for you was filled with loyalty, did you ever see the real me? I mean HER. Did you ever see the real HER !

People judge her cause her knees have hit the floor more times to please a man that she barely even knows, than being knelt down in prayer praising a God who's works are knows. The insides of her palms know drugs, better than they've ever known prayer. She proclaims her love to men that she means nothing too, more times that she's told her own mother that she loves her. She holds on to men tighter than she's ever hugged her daughter. Reciting rap lyrics like its nothing, ask her to recite the 'our father' and she"s stuttering. Truth is.. she had to grow up too quick. Always fallen the victim to someone else opinions, truth is she just always fallen.

I am not a writer.
I am not good with words,
I cannot speak up for myself,
It is my pen that bleed words.
No amount of convincing can give me conviction.
No amount of clarification can make that distinction.
Please refrain from using titles.

I am not a writer.
I am just a dreamer,
Dreaming dreams of inverted galaxies
Where complexities are reduced to simplicity,
And maybe love wouldn't be so complicated.
I dream of a world where I'll be unchained and liberated,
Because currently freedom is hard to go by.

I am not a writer.
I am just another over thinker,
I stay up all night disassembling the world,
So I can put it back together.
Adding new features that I think will make it better
I get lost in thoughts, and day-mares, fantasies and others,
I obsess and I always suffer.

I am not a writer.
Though sometimes I am photographer,
Snapping,
Close ups and selfies of my terrible mind.
Giving glints of places you won't usually find,
All because I write sometimes.

"you always hurt the ones you love."
as if saying that sentence makes it better.
it makes it ok to hurt the ones you love, because you know they love you also and they would forgive you.

it makes it ok to yell in the face of the one you love, to make them cower in fear. it makes it ok to push the one you love into the coffee table, it makes it ok to give the one you love a red hand print on there cheek.

it makes it ok to come back hours later and hug them and ask them if they are ok, and to never speak of what happened again and not even say sorry just like it never happened, because you "love" them.

You take that **** thrusted upon you
You pick out the nutrients from that compost
And make it work in your favour
Grow from it
Because
Because god ******* ****** you're worth more than this
And you know it

Root yourself
Anchor using your values
Build that steady foundation

Then take it from the bottom up
Defy gravity
Chasing the sun

And after your beautiful bloom
You will die
But not in vain

Others will stem from your knowledge left behind in the soil

The best way to get the broken pieces of an egg out of your omelette
Is using half the shell to pick it up while it's still raw

Maybe you're the best qualified to pick up your own broken pieces