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