ANXIETY IS MY HOME | Poetry | Parisha Dutta | Thodi Story – Mixed Tape


What is it about Imagining your ceiling fan crushing itself over your body making you lose your skull to the god of blood. Hello, there tiny little not-so-little kid girl
standing here justifying Anxiety. Often asked about what is this rock of yours? Beautiful eyes, why so dull? Leave the shell please, the
shell looks rough enough to crush the sunlight. While I say, yeah sure, I know;
it’s just that I’m actually trying to crush the sunlight. Lights make me uncomfortable. Some days these lights become pixie rays of hope and the other day these lights become star holes making my bit awakened vision of hope go blind. They say, listen to motivating voices. I say, sure, I am my motivating voice in the shower and the same rejection to the motivation voice outside to this world questions after questions popped up like allergens in my smooth skin smooth skin, is my life. Life scratched with magnifying ocd Anxiety is vodka, some days it makes you puke and the other day makes you go back to it again. They say, you’re beautiful. I say, I know but that’s just a perspection. You know, your body say silent and golden to it, You call yourself an introvert. You know, you wanna sing but all you sing about is of depressing songs. You wanna dream you dream about monsters killing itself choking your body making you lose your soul to the god of nightmares. Anxiety is watching sleeping pills as space Anxiety is hopelessness Anxiety makes you hate love, makes you push love In the fear of getting too much without just
giving much. Anxiety is kissing the person, yet crying to the probability of not being able to
kiss that particular ever again. Yet somedays anxiety becomes your home
because anyway you go back to it.

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