The anxiety doesn't change, just the contents of the package.

Ars Poetica

Cassi CLark, 1999


As if my hands are tethered

to the ground with chains I strain

to Print. Re-reading I wonder where

those thoughts came from. I am nuts.

My heart speeds, and skips beats.

My muscles freeze for a moment,

then I hand my package to the postmaster.

Someone is going to READ this!? My chest

compresses the air leaving prematurely

a mountain of thoughts squishing it out.

I am paralyzed with the threat or promise

of events not yet past.


Life is like a poem

In order to improve

It one must eliminate

The part one loves the best

As if it’s the worst. 

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