Overwhelmed with anxiety,
Hoping one day to live again,
Filled with joy and delight in life.
Someday worries will cease their din.

To lose yourself
Is scary

As not to know
The way

You see a million directions
And you're afraid to choose

You're overanalyzing
Lose touch to any feeling

You're transparent like a ghost
There's no sense in your existence

You see no sense at all.

Like a trombone
The sound of pain in mind
Your brain gets hurt
You're stuck

Can barely breath
Why breath at all?
If you're a ghost

You're scaring, hurting others.
What a shame.

Who will be ever able to love you?
It mustnt be true, it must be a game.

I worry that
I may be
An electron.

The negative charges
Are building beneath
The shield that I choose
To call my ribcage,
Painting my lungs blue
And weighing it
With my mistakes.

I cannot exist alone,
All too willing
To give myself away
To anything that somehow
Makes me feel whole.

I’m sorry
I couldn’t tell you sooner,
But these problems
Can’t be solved
With science.

I hear the cry in your eyes
I feel your longing for peace

Am I as helpless as I fear you think I am?
If three syllables could move this mountain,

I’d scream it out loud,
mending our wounds,

Yours a worried soul,
Mine a unsettled heart.


<c.h.b.>

Worry
Pounds like rain;
I force myself
To remember
That stormclouds
Are thick with rage
Just before they break
And calm returns to the earth
As the storm recedes,
As it will in me

The arrow in my dream pointed up
I wasn't sure what that meant
but I slowly swung my legs out of bed
still woozy but knowing I had to write
so I got up.

I walk with my head down
watching the darkened floor so each step is safe and firm.
Recently I saw my sister walking with her head up
looking at the trees
looking up to see the branches growing.
I worried she would trip on a crack or branch or rock and fall.
I worried.
She walked with her head up.

She is a good example for me
looking for growth
When she looks down it's for all the gifts
the Doug Firs and Cedar leave for good Earth
some of the samara she gathers like precious treasurers,
takes them home and spreads them about
for adornment of her place.

When discouragement or sadness get me down
I need to remember to look up
beyond the muck
toward the stars
where creation began
and listen for the bang
in the voices
of jays, cardinals, friends, loves, and strangers.