Head down, leg jittering, fingers picking at the peeling, broken remains of nail in the desperate attempt to look busy.
“They think you’re fidgety.”
Vision everywhere, yet nowhere simultaneously, avoiding the burning, yet innocent gaze of the person I am in the company of.
“They think you’re strange.”
The breath hitched in my throat, the words trickling back down to lay still in the pit of my stomach, my tongue rolling flat back into the shallow deck of my mouth.
“They don’t want to listen to you.”
Broken sentences, one word answers, frantic nods, and dreary nods in the attempt to look interested in the subject they’re talking about, in which I am uneducated.
“She’s not interested.”
“You’re distracted.” “You’re bored.” “You’re shy.”
I am not distracted, I am scared, these four magnolia brick walls I am imprisoned in, as the empty chairs mirror the figure of classmates with judging eyes.
Careful.
I am not bored, my tongue is willing to ask questions, but my larynx and brain aren't allowing the connection, creating a silent being. Mute.
I am shy. I am fearful and anxious of others thoughts and opinions. I feel eyes digging in like razors and words sting like a swarm of wasps. Thoughts is starvation, stealing away the opportunity of redeeming and recreating myself as the person I am, in an environment where I am not frightened.
Me.
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety
PoetryAnxiety is not a joke. This is based on Anxiety, some poems and what not. So, enjoy. Some of these aren't mine, the owners get the credit. (Most came off this website; http://hellopoetry.com with the Anxiety hash-tag) I am using other people's poem...
