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