A Shrine to my Anxiety

My anxiety is not a
missed plane.
It is a connecting flight
that got delayed,
ruining the best of
how my future was laid-
My anxiety is a snowball,
devouring everything
that lies in its wake.

My anxiety is not lyrics
half sung
and half cried out in pain.
It is when my typing slurs
and I use smilies a bit too much,
when I am not really happy
but just making it up-
My anxiety is a mask
that pretends to be my face.

My anxiety is not getting
drenched in the rains.
It is carrying oceans
inside my eyes,
where the world can't swim
and comes crashing down as a tide-
My anxiety is an abyss,
not so much a resting place.

My anxiety is not reasons
or causes or things
that didn't go right.
It is fear
based on baselessness,
a dark, intangible fright.
So, when you ask me 'what's wrong'
and I say 'nothing,'
I'm not really lying.

My anxiety doesn't
need pills or poultices or poems.
My anxiety craves a shrine,
so it deserts the whole wide world
and settles, instead,
for my mind.