The world is a blur to me,
as I shake and shiver with worry.
It does not make sense to you,
It makes none to me too.
I pick my lips, bite my cheek,
due to my brain being a freak.
Just that I have no control,
for that, I look down on my soul.
I look at myself in disgust,
and ask is it myself I can trust?
I second guess all that I do,
afraid that I'll lose to you.
Why is it my brain can't see,
how ridiculous it can be.
Am I just a complete hot mess,
or is it that I am put to the test?
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Author:
Dakotah Lavender (
Offline) - Published: April 5th, 2017 11:42
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a sliver of what I deal with due to my anxiety. (I know I have issues)
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 47
Offline)
Comments3
Every one worries. Admitting this is surely one way to prevent ot getting out of control. Especially when you admit it in such lovely verse.
With words like these you are passing the test. Good write.
Thank you both for the feedback.
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