Silent Anxiety

Anxiety is a hypocrite,

the pain and worry illogical to reality.

The heaviness of the world overwhelms me,

but what is one supposed to do?

Of course its just an over reaction,

a dramatized consciousness.

Thats all it ever is with me.

 

Anxiety preys

on my disposition to ambiguity.

What did I do?

Am I not good enough?

Because any complications that arise

has to be in relation to me,

though my intentions are virtuous.

Questions scamper throughout my mind,

tearing and destroying.

When will this end?

 

It abandons me at last,

leaving nothing but a footprint of authority behind.

It leaves me vulnerable, 

with clouds of dominant haze.

But of course,

all they see is an over dramatic, distressed girl.

This poem is about: 
Me

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