Having anxiety isn’t cool like being bipolar,

and you don’t get bumper sticker slogans

scribbled with advice about life.


You don’t get to write poems wrapped in mania

after scrubbing the bathroom raw

and having bleach seep into your cut veins

from picking at a shadow for two hours.


There isn’t an afterschool special

about how your thoughts cripple your body

and turn your mind in on itself.


Or how you want to rip out the bones

festering under your skin

so you can finally breathe without a ribcage.


No one cares that you name objects

to focus on something

other than the time four days ago

when you called someone by the wrong name,

and those three seconds have played

on a loop ever since.


And it certainly doesn’t matter

you spend hours each morning

planning conversations until you know

exactly how you’ll react.


Having anxiety isn’t cool since you were born

with the correct wiring in your brain,

and it’s all just in your head anyway.