Anxiety
Its tendrils
long
and camouflaged
by surges of activity,
its roots
tenacious
and overpowering
from years of fretful food.
Its blooms
relentless
and sneaky,
flowering unexpectedly,
carelessly casting new seeds
at dawn,
at sunset,
at midnight.
I swing
and chop
and yank
and tear,
but still its nasty buds
poke through
the beaten ground.
Defeated dirt,
this heart remains
the perfect breeding ground for
weeds
such as these.
9 thoughts on "Anxiety"
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Oh wow, feeling some real synchronicity between this and the one I just posted, even to the tendrils. The exhaustion of it. Really powerful.
Love the metaphors and pace of your poem. I agree with Margaret, it is very powerful.
But then, the lowly thistle blooms majestic…
Yes! I love this addition – it definitely merits a rewrite…
I barely need to say it one more time – this is a powerful poem. The metaphors are right on!
I commiserate with this poem too!
Thank you, everyone for your kind words! Sorry that you struggle as well.
One could almost get dirt under the nails
with this lovely piece of work.
“this heart remains
the perfect breeding ground for
weeds
such as these.”
Lovely. I could feel this one.