On Anxiety

Dear anxiety,

I’d like if you relished control of my hands,

Shaking uncontrollably,

Wavering in the face of everyday life,

Clenched furiously, because that’s not who I’ve worked to become.

My spirit is imbued with the thunder and storms,

Screaming with the fervor of one million inspired souls,

But my body says otherwise.

I shake so much,

That holding one measly pencil is an immense effort.

When I falter, I see a different person in the mirror,

My vision blurs. That isn’t me.

My fears are so banal, but my fire is swept away.

It’s me in that mirror. But I refuse to believe

That I’m down for the count.

I’m crumpled, I’m broken,

I’m fighting.

Terror, horror, whatever it is that eats away at me,

I despise you more than I despise myself.

And I think that’s what keeps me going.

To determination, I remain an avatar of your greatness.

To resolve, I remain your devout follower.

To inspiration, I bathe in your light.

To honor, I continue to walk your path.

When my breathing is cut short by my racing heart,

When my hands are shackled by their shaking,

That’s when I know that need to give it my all.

To anxiety,

I may not be much,

But I know that I am more than enough for the likes of you.

Sincerely,

me.