A poem about my pal, Anxiety.

I’m sitting on the riverbank,

The grass between my toes,

This is my secret sanctuary,

Not even God would know.

And on that subject I do wonder,

How this earth was born

By evolution or miracle?

Much like the grass… I’m, er, torn.

People-watching serves me well,

The children play with stones,

The dogs flop in the water

While the peed-off parent moans,

Teens clearly buzzing at the sight

Keep it to their phones,

While I sit on the riverbank,

The grass between my toes.

The air is thick, the breeze is cool,

I’m slapped by blazing heat,

I taste the ice-cold spring water,

A bliss quite hard to beat.

I practice acts of mindfulness,

I listen to the birds,

Their tune, they holla: Girl, you’re free,

I chant these precious words.

Then, I shuffle on my asscheeks,

The lumpy ground protrudes,

A fleeting thought of heading home

Is set to change my mood.

I cling with fury to the calm,

But the noise is in my head,

Soon enough the Life Alarm

Has ripped me from my bed.

The birdsong turns to ringtones,

The river, just a screen,

The people are like emails

As they F up the whole scene.

I may be present bodily,

But my mind is now possessed,

I’m sitting on the riverbank,

But staring at my F’ing desk.

I realise, now, the moment’s gone

As I wriggle in my seat,

Defeated by my ‘pal’, Anxiety,

I rise onto my feet,

“All good things must come to an end”

I say as I reverse,

Or something more like “F you, pal,

You really are the worst.”

I climb the steps between the houses,

Back against the sun,

“Bye then,” I say to my retreat.

I hear the motors hum.

And just like that, I’m on a street,

So grey and void of breath,

My heart is heavy, once again,

The peace is choked to death.

I daydream of the riverbank,

The grass between my toes,

The sight and sound unaltered,

While my understanding grows:

We yearn for stillness, always

But we force ourselves to change?

As humans, we are nature,

But by nature, we’re F’ing strange.

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