Anxiety

Lost In An Anxiety Dream

The dream, an early morning awakening.

 

Past and present merge.

 

I’m in an unfamiliar place,

 

Staring at a concrete intersection,

 

Searching for known landmarks,

 

Trying to establish which way to go.

 

Each road leads to confusion.

 

Isolation.

 

Echoes of childhood have vanished for ever,

 

The familiar buildings replaced by office blocks,

 

And I stand alone by the crossroads, lost and without purpose.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I have always had a keen interest in dreams and what they tell us. 

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just do it

Take down the veil and let folks see

Once inside i am empty

of all the things i once faught

the very devil has been caught


So who am i left here to live

a being of when and only if

things go well and i perservere

through this purely abstract fear.


View wrennie's Full Portfolio
tags:

I'm broken

Hope for me i will be okay

From the start of each new day

Hold my hand so i won't falter

In the quest that i cant alter


See inside is only fright

not the urge to have a fight.

I need to learn not to worry

About all those folks in a hurry


Life has it's own ups and downs

that cause us all to wear a frown

But it will never be as bad 

as when i was so young and sad


I need to remember things have changed

That i have grown and yet remained

Here in life i wont give up

At the feast i'll get to sup


It's taken time to get this far 

But now it's time to raise the bar

hold on to your guts you'll be fine

telling folks so that they know to define


As i'm not of the ordinary sort

For me everything is so fraught

Because of a broken switch inside

that makes me want to run and hide


So i will not allow myself to overthink it

Whats inside is a broken instinct

Instead i will just take a breath

Think it through in shallow depth


Did they really want to hurt you?

The people folks all around you

I don't think they even care

even if they do stare


So bear with me it may take a while

for me to just bear a smile

I've done very well to even be here

To be so social is very rare


Everyone around you is kind

stop searching you'll never find

What it is causing this dread

That starts as i get out of bed


I feel powerless when it grips me

A pawn in mine owned lifetimes journey

To FIGHT? or FLEE? that is the question

Constantly asked to my distraction

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Shattered Heart

We thought it was LOVE

When we busted the facade

I learn it was lusted affair

I only wanted to win your affection

Yet you pin me as imperfection

I rush the the threshold, pausing at the gate

Heart rate pounding, your hate rising

This angry tide consuming, pushing me further

I want off this insane ride of yours

 

Our luck is fucked

I look down at my phone, silent now

The shattered screen, like my busted heart

All bucked up, cracked

You did a number on me

Your mean love made my spirit lean

 

Cleaning you out of me

Rattle my beans

As I battle the poison

You breed in me

The greed of your kisses

I piss myself when you hit me

Now I hiss your name in vain

I wouldn't play your game

So now I drop my cape

Tape my busted heart

 

Heal best as I can

Peel off the exhaustion

I cannot rest

My chest constricting

Anxiety at head lights behind me

I asked for kindness, not blindness

Rightfully, that would be love

 

What was our marriage

What was our dream

I scream at the greyness

Smashing the madness

The badness, ripping your hooks out

Now I look at my cracked screen

Reminding myself what is left of my heart

Processing the Affects of Taking Out the Trash

Folder: 
Poems.

Unsure how to process,

I am living on the edge of forgotteness,

While today, taking out the trash,

Nearly gave me whiplash,

To the past I found myself agazed,

Upon the rough, unforgettable haze,

Containing the choices you have made,

And how I just try my best to wade,

Through the pain,

That left a permanent stain,

And through the disappointment,

That took my enjoyment,

The person that lived in that room,

The one that lacked a broom,

That person was not you,

At least not the one I ever knew,

Having kept that aspect of you separate from my mind,

It was easier to have your role clearly be defined,

But now there's another person that's been along for the ride,

And it takes strength to learn to coincide.

Buzzcut Boy

Folder: 
Confessions

It's not you,

It's not me,

It's not him

It's the world that has been

sucking us back in

to the dark void it's yet to fill

devouring our rainbows and

any shade and trace of light

and everything we hold dear

 

It's not you

It's not me

It might be

the words of a madman that

have devoured me piece by piece

ever since

until I suffocate and dissolve

into the nothingness I feel

at 3 a.m.

 

And I'm sorry if you knew this only now.

 

It's not you

It's not him

It's the constant fear

that has built a home

out of the shanties of my heart

Pulling the strings,

the triggers

on its whim

 

And I'm sorry but it's already won the war, I believe

 

It's not you

It's not me

It's not him

It's the inevitability I cannot escape

And so in silence, I shall

roam this world and carry

the memories of us,

your buzzcut and my smile,

and the glow I basked on with

in that April afternoon.

 

Forget about me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about how depression affects love.

Tired.

 

 

She got enough sleep last night.
Curling under the covers by half past nine.
Waking an hour after sun rise.
She wasn’t woken up in the gloom.
No baby brother rose her at dusk
no young adult sister stumbled in at half five with her keys in her hand, knocking hard at the door
slurring her words because ‘she forgot the time’
She’s out the door by twenty to nine.
It’s a two minute walk from her street to the gate
past the garden gnomes knocked over by the wind
past next door’s cat who shit on the bins.
Her late departure agitates her even though she’s never late
as she breezes past the students milling out the front
sneaking a cigarette to spark fire in their lungs
setting themselves alight to hope the smoke brings fun.
Her limbs are heavy
but it’s not from exhaustion
because her eyelids aren’t heavy they’re pinned open wide
breathing slow and difficult, pacing like the tide
as it crashes down on the beach and ravages the sand
as the wind picks up her hair and blows it in her face.
First lesson is something that’s the same
the same old lesson for the same old day
where the voices drill into her head like machines
brain clicks and whirrs, a little out of time with the rest
as they whine
about the homework they’ve just been set.
It’s a quick familiar routine
break is in the library
lunch is in toilet
bent over a sink
splashing her face in order to erase
the sleepiness that’s settled even though
she got enough sleep.
She’s got wild eyes that spark and fury
but the spark’s put out like a match dropped in the rain
when the droplets hiss on the smoldering wood
and crumble it into black ash on the pavement.
She’s cigarette smoke
pale grey
the color of the sky in the early morning
when you can taste rain in the air
and feel the cold in your bones
when the damp sticks to your hand, your hair
she’s blown away into the wind and then she’s not there.
Because she hates to admit she’s lost in the world
not just in the maze of the building
when her skin and her surroundings aren’t quite so clear
she has to have blind trust in people
and a blind trust in the solidness of the walls
that she slumps against when her knees give way
not from exhaustion though because she’s
not tired
she’s just cold, and a little sick, bent over the toilet seat
not going to vomit because she’s not ill
just breathing shallowly as her pulse pounds
keeping her head together until she jumps and bumps her knees on the toilet seat
when the bell rings and lunch is over and it’s time to face them again
and by them she means anyone with eyes
the eyes that can see her with sympathy and swim with pity
she doesn’t need
because she’s
just tired
except
she’s not tired
because she got enough sleep last night
Curling under the covers by half past nine.
Waking an hour after sun rise.
There must be more than this’
is the thought that ripples through her mind
a disappointed stone sinking in a stagnant pond
as she stares at herself in the mirror
practicing her smile
mouthing the words
I’m just tired.’

 



Author's Notes/Comments: 

This one is a bit more relatable :(

View persephonelikescats's Full Portfolio

Solitary night

 
 
Solitary night
 
tears of dissatisfaction
 
choking on memories
 
a torrent as the dark presses in
 
Searching, seeking
 
the long-awaited slumber
 
of each miserable, useless regret of yesterday
 
Yet, afraid to face the uncertainty of tomorrow
 
 
 

Anxiety

Anxiety

Daniel Bravo

Bernardo Herrera


You are walking through the hallway, but it seems to get bigger with every step you take.

You look down to the floor, thinking maybe that will make it easier. But it doesn’t. So you start walking faster. A weird feeling starts to invade your mind, and all of the sudden it starts to invade your body. First, your hands get sweaty, your heart starts racing and your legs get heavier.


You hear a girl asking if you are alright. You look up and realize she is as beautiful as her voice. You want to look casual, like those people on the movies. But you only end up emitting unrecognizable sounds that make you feel even worse. She leaves, and you keep thinking about how you always scare them away.


The thoughts start to flood your mind with such force you lose grip of reality. You can only think about the exams getting closer, everything you have to study and every homework you have to do. And now you are worried about scaring other girls away. Great. Because even when you are weird, you want to be loved. Then you tell yourself you are not weird, just a little broken.


You finally get to the classroom, everyone is already sitting and the class is about to start. You look at the clock and realize those five minutes felt like an hour.


You sit down, not at the front, but just close enough to the entrance to get out as quickly as possible. The teacher asks you something you barely hear. He repeats the question but your mind is elsewhere and math is the last thing you are thinking about. He tells you to go wash you face. You really wonder how washing your face will put out the raging inferno going on your mind. But you just get up and get to the restroom as instructed.


You wash your face because you don’t have anything to lose, you know it doesn’t work, but you do it anyway. Even when the water is cold, you feel like you are burning up. You realize the door is moving, some is about to come in, you think about the guys that flushed your face down the toilet the last time. They’re not, it’s just one guy, your typical average Joe, so calm and steady. He looks at you and reaches out to you just asking if you are OK. You storm out without a word, you would have loved his help, but you know he could do nothing, nobody knows what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.

 

Now it’s 6 o’clock in the afternoon, almost everybody has left school, but you stay there, your back to the wall, eyes on the ground, because it doesn’t matter to you being here or being home or being anywhere, there’s no shelter, there’s no home, there’s nowhere to run if the problem is on your mind, you believe that since that day you heard it on TV.

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