Sometimes, I wish my soul Wasn't so sensitive I extend my exposed hand out For others to grab Sometimes, my reach Is acknowledged and held onto Other times, it's crushed With the overwhelming and Presumptuous weight Of being a burden and A disappointment
This pain is very strong This suffering tugs and Drags me down A sinkhole that I don't even Notice I'm falling through
Until it's too late Until I feel lightheaded When my heart beats In fluttering patterns Until my chest tightens And I feel a knot in my throat
It's hard to swallow this air I breathe For at times, it's so dense and thick But there's no fog, no illusion Just allusions to the fact That I'm tired... Fatigued... Exhausted... A barren tree A lot of life to give But an abandoned seed In my mind That's what my demons tell me
This is my story of triumph That I'm still writing This is my journey That I'm still fighting.
This poem centers around my anxiety. It's something that I struggle with, and as of recent, I've dove into writing more about it. It definitely helps chip away at the marble every time I shape it into a form of art. A reminder to anyone who struggles with anxiety and depression, that you're not alone, there are ways to cope, and you're loved, always.