Poem 2: Anxiety

Photo by Ana Bregantin on Pexels.com

I was in the dark carrying a lamp, I was far too small. Towering over me were these leaves, their blades too board to see beyond and in-between. They wanted me as badly as I wanted them to leave.

Still shinning my light.

Moving it away.

Back again as if they would disappear like they never did.

Stumbling over inside this body, the roof was made faulty. The sun burning through created a hole and they slid in, never paying me no mind when I would mention they were hurting me, they needed to leave.

My boots were heavy, I wondered if a magnet was holding them underneath. The demons are coming, I must run, I must hide.

If they ever found me, it would be the end of me to the beginning of them.

Then where will I be?

The slight relief is like a palace that begged not my presence, I could feel the breezing of the palm leaves over my face. Being nudged by the memory my world fell apart.

Falling off the ground, twisted upside down, spun on the wheel of fortune never delivering me to hope but destined to worry.

Why are you dressed like me? Backpack, a Beanie? Why do you sound like me? I could never quite grasp it.

They say a price we pay for imagining the future, I say a shooting star, planets crashing destroying the present pass and the hell in our hearts.

Elephants swinging their trunks, a princess riding like a diva, shaded by her draping’s. They cant see the marks, they cant see her paintings.

The depression that follows is like a mother that forgets to feed, spoon that falls as soon it reaches your lips.

If it is by my fingers upon a piano, which key should I play?

How about the lessons you’ve taught me, to be afraid of everything including my shadow.

Theirs a voice under the key, a murderer in my closet and a rapist by the bins but they are never by the dozen.

What’s that behind the curtains? Oh its just a dove that came for a visit.

What was that? A mail from the mailman.

What’s that ringing in my ear? It’s okay just leave it.

I can’t breathe, they are watching me.

I can’t sleep, they’ll touch my feet.

We are screwed, but we are safe under the moon.

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Published by healinghands231

She is a witch, a writer, a fiancée and a queen at healing the masses within. A 24 year old woman, based in the UK, she finds peace in the tarot, peace in the oracle. She breathes humility and a passion to help bring the art of your mind to life in a snap. Bring to her your work, create by night by day and she will be there to help you pursue like a coin displayed on a tray.

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