nervousness
is a disease imbedded in my veins
blackening my lungs
shaking my legs
and shaking down the leaves of my reason tree.
falling to the ground without the season's beckon.

a disorder
calmed only by pretty pills
and deep breaths that my therapist
says will help gather air in my depleting lungs

drowning in my incertainty
the deep breaths I take choke.
The pills make things harder to swallow.


There is no cure for me.
I am anxiety.
A product of an uprooted childhood.
I'll manage and dig up my soil
and till my rows and plant myself
a more soild ground.