Overdramatic
Overshown
Can’t donate or share
Something I own

Overused
Overdiagnosed
But I know I have it
Looms over; my personal ghost

Overrated
Oversimplified
Not “feeling worried”,
Feeling like you’ll die

Overemotional
Oversensative
People complain
Even when I’ve got a sedative

Understand it’s not an
Understatement
When I say
Anxiety’s complicated.

The low cloud above the hill
Would cling to the top of the tallest tree,
And yet no memory of us
Would cling to me the way nature illustrates.

Not forgetfulness, my love.
Not out of spite, my dear.
Just a watercolor of the way we were.
And don't lie, we weren't happy.

Those days where we sat in front of a konbini,
Long after-school after-noons,
Ended far too soon.
Ended far too quiet.

You would stare, stare, stare a storm.
A tempest that I could not see despite examining you for a lifetime.
They said we looked perfect together.
But you never looked at me the way you would the distance.

So instead the distance stood in between me and you,
Kota.
I was so ready to love you.
But we bit off more than we could chew.

The gun has been facing me for too long
The final thought and word from the poet
To be someone’s is to hurt self
To be no one’s is far better
Cracked eyes and tiger streams melt
Lashes collect at dripped edge
lept in multitudes, landed not once
Knees buckle under gravity
Chance has torn the light from eye’s view
Teeth scratch, the bite cruel and deep
But words, those words have lead wars without end
Have me listen to poison, falsities proved echos
In dark- clouded minds,  night delivers truth
Harsh truth of moments blind
The nightmare persists
One’s life is not yet to be theirs.