and if you don’t know what i’m talking about, maybe you’ve never had anxiety. maybe you’ve never felt your heart pound, and your thoughts race, and you’re too tired to feel like this but you can’t help but worry anyway.
maybe you’ve never been awake this late at night writing poetry, because you don’t know what else to do with your life. as your stomach crumples inward. and the voices scream, and as it starts to fall apart.
and it’s your fault. it’s your fault. it’s your fault. and it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault…
and something’s going to go wrong eventually. you’re going to do something wrong eventually. you are going to explode eventually.
did i ever mention that sometimes living with a brain like this feels like a disability?
Another anxiety poem. I’ve been really struggling with perfectionism lately.