Dear Anxiety

Amateur writer. On the path of the phrase that says "practice makes perfect." Avid consumer of books that make me think, make me feel.

Dear Anxiety, you are the origin

Of a lot of my thoughts, but also

Of my despair. So, does that make you

At the center of my intellect? No.

I must repeat that to myself.

Does my fury define me? No.

This is a reminder to me.

My errors do not define who I am, and

Criticism isn't the end of me. This is

My key to sanity.

Surely, the person who I imagine

Myself to be isn't the same

As the one people really perceive.

But should this be the cause of

Long-awaited relief or

Added, dreaded angst?

The thousands of conversations created

In my brain, are they useful

Preparation or valueless clutter?

Do people ever feel as intimidated by

Me as I do by them? Do they wish

I would approach them just as I wish

They would? Am I really

Valuable enough? Yes, I am sure

That I am. Am I confident enough?

I like to think so. But I have no proof.

Please, life, when I gather the courage

To take a leap of faith, don't make it a jump

From the top of a cliff. Rather,

Make it like a bungee jump

That leads me to freedom

From Anxiety's prison.

© 2017 H Bakerley