welcome to my mind, vol. 1

if your anxiety is a man in a gorilla suit,

mine is a girl about my age in a silver dress

sitting at the table next to me.

if your anxiety beats his chest,

and thrashes his arms,

and stomps from room to room,

mine munches quietly on her salad,

smoothing the napkin across her lap as she

eavesdrops on my conversation.

if your anxiety murmurs and roars incoherently over in the corner,

mine turns towards me, smiling, and says,

“I couldn’t help but overhearing…”

she is flawless in every way

that I am not,

and whoever I am eating with quickly invites her to pull up a chair.

before I can stop it,

she’s entertaining my guests,

helping herself to whatever is on their plate,

smiling as she puts a hand on theirs, as they tell her,

“it’s so lucky that we met you. you’re amazing.”

if your anxiety is ugly and dark and scary,

mine is a charming brunette who

gains the favor of everyone we meet, who

waits until whoever we’re with is in the bathroom and then

leans over to me and whispers,

“maybe you should leave. I’m pretty sure no one wants you here.”

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