My hands are out of control,
my mouth is going POP-PPP!
Anxiety is swallowing me whole,
and my mind is a hole I’m trapped in.
You’re just doing that.
You’re copying, mimicking, mocking.
Nothing is wrong with you.
No, no, no. Nothing.
I can’t tell anyone but two.
I’m alone and scared and shaking.
Anxiety is making it (POP) worse.
My hands are flying and I’m crying,
and I know I’ll go and research.
Tics can be verbal or physical.
POP, Wax, arms and wrists, clap, shake. Pain.
Words like anxiety, chronic, syndrome, POP out at me.
Symptoms call me down to two tic disorders.
And until my parents belive me, I’m falling, falling, falling,
Falling into anxiety’s cold grasp.