I wish I had never let go of the

childhood with nonexistent worrying.

——————

Standing alone in the middle of the room,

can they tell I’m about ready to jump?

I’ve gone in and out of these little mindsets,

and I’m starting to wonder if I’m a grump.

Standing, walking,

laughing, talking,

every single action

brings an unsteady heartbeat.

It just hurts.

I wish I never had to let go of my childhood.

I wish I never had to let go of the lack

of the feeling clawing up my throat,

or the sight of my world fading to black.

“I wish I didn’t have anxiety.”

They all respond the same.

They all don’t get it.

I don’t do it for fame.

Why would I?

This is a weakness.

This is not a lie.

“I’m sorry, your wish is against the rules,

only things capable of happening

can be wished and received.”

“Get over it.”

“Social anxiety? Stop making things up.”

I’m sorry I’m nothing but corrupt.

This is a vent,

not really a poem.

But it hurts,

So I thought to show them,

maybe it won’t hurt as much.

Please tell me it won’t hurt as much.

Please.

Anxiety hurts.

But doing it alone

is even worse.