The Pulse of Controlled Anxiety

The shakes, the nerves, the trembles of absolute fear I feel in the tiny hands attached to me. 

They control me. They make one motion that consumes my focus entirely. 

I am drowning in a sea of my anxiety.

My fear appears and demolishes any sign of positivity. 

It is all shown in the tiny hands attached to me.

 

Will this be the end of me?

Should I hide the only physical sign that shows everyone the thoughts that control my brain?

I am driven insane because I can not train the trembles that take hold of me to fade away.

Why can't my hands understand to stop, to halt, to break the bonds that contain me,

to wash away the fear and pain let me roam free? 

 

Perhaps I should just let it be.

These doubts and troubles have somehow become a part of me. 

The nerves have swallowed me but ultimately made me better.

I will show my hands with pride. I will step onto the floor like I have already won the prize before.

With a gentle glide to every note, a beautiful sound escapes my throat.

I let it be. The nerves have now become me and I am significantly better. 

I sing the last letter and let the people know that I am done taking their time.

The audience looks with grateful eyes. 

I know I gave justice to the word "song."

I can move along and let the nerves that control the tiny hands attached to me

lead me where I am supposed to be. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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