May 9, 2019.
a n x i e t y
My eyes opened all at once, startled by the sound of her being distraught.
They flung open like a screendoor and closed with a slam.
In a house as quiet as this, a knock such as that is a gunshot and you can hear the windows whisper and the walls talk.
And I laid in the messy bed I haven't made and thought.
I was thinking about the beautiful sound the clock made when I threw it against the hardwood resulting in a wham.
In a mind as loud as this, you'll embrace denial over acknowledging being distraught.
So when asked about my current state and all the symptoms its brought,
I simply ignored the pounding at the door and focused on the slight tremble of my hand.
In days as suffocating as this, I don't want to hear the same uninspired talk.
And when my darling vistor begged and pleaded for the door to be unlocked,
I did us both a favor and ignored her simple demands.
Because in comforting and courteous lies such as, "I'm fine" I know you'll just hear that I'm distraught.
I may know that I am, but I also want to believe that I'm not.
Saying the truth may only make the issue expand.
In a diagnosis as severe as this, I'll ponder my strength and the voice in my head that talks.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say I've gotten worse and that my nerves are completely shot.
For the first time my life seems to be put together so I don't really understand.
In a success story progressing as far as this, why do I feel distraught?
Does the applause become a pressure and the encouragement to small talk?
Poetry by aidan haskel
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Written on 2019-05-09 at 08:38
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