A-N-X-I-E-T-Y

My best friend wanted
to talk and I left
her messages
unanswered and went
out for a few cigarettes
instead.

A-N-X-I-E-T-Y

Anxiety is an overrated
word that I often
use when my limbs
don’t have enough
strength to climb
out of my
psychology books.

Somedays,
it keeps me grounded
to my bed and
somedays,
it only chases my
indifference like a
long distance lover.

Some nights, I
try to hold myself in
a stranger’s arms
because the words
only resonate with
the stories thrown
at me.

“You think too much.”

You see,
these are my
stories and they
have a pattern.

They go from
the tip of my
pen that refuses
to let go of
my first lover,
to all my relatives
that talk about my
colour and body weight
as if it’s their
property to bring
a little change to.

They go from my
parents feeling
guilty about
not being able
to give me things
that I wanted, when
all my silent cries
ever asked for, was
a happy memory
from my childhood.

Happy seems a
word too distant
from my neighbour’s
hand trying to
move up my skirt
at dinner.
I was 8 years old.

My long distance
lover tells me
to be a little
careful with the
amount of smoke
I inhale, but little
does he know
that he is too far to
just listen to my
heavy breaths
over the phone.

I am strong,
he needs to believe.

A-N-X-I-E-T-Y

Anxiety is an overused
term for fake
smiles and mannerisms
that only explain
themselves when
scrutinised by my
cousins embarrassing
me over them at a
family dinner.

It explains itself
with the feeling
that I get when
i realise that all
my poems have
been trying to
tell the same
story.

Anxiety, always
has a friend.

D-E-P-R-E-S-S-I-O-N

Yes, sometimes,
it’s good old
depression
that only
settles on my
skin when my
nights are full of
recklessly hogging
on oreo and my
days only know
a foetal position
in the bed.

And then,


M-A-N-I-A,

Mania
when I’ll be
seen walking
around like a
fitness enthusiast,
smiling at people
for no apparent
reason.

This only happens
when my doctor
puts me on
prozac.

In one of our
sessions, he was
trying to make me
realise how
precious life is.

I don’t know
about life,
but I know I
wanted to beat
death up when
it closed in
on my grandmother
along with the
light in my eyes.

My parents don’t
know that I’ve
started therapy.

A-N-X-I-E-T-Y

Anxiety is often
a limbo that
forces my whole
being to let go
of old passions
that kept me sane.

“Oh, keep dancing,
love. You’re amazing.”

“Oh, no. The way your
body moves makes you
seem funny. You’re just
a mediocre child.”

Says anxiety.

Bite your nails.
Tap your right
foot, repeatedly,
that’s the only
balance you’ve
got.

Wear a loose
t-shirt.
A body con
will make you
seem pretentious.
You know that your
body is hideous.

Wear something
light, you are
enough for the
dark.

A-N-X-I-E-T-Y.


Anxiety.
//Why I refuse to talk about anxiety and why I need to talk about it.
– Monica Thakur
GUEST POSTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED 🙂

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