My anxiety is an ever changing, gender fluid, magical chameleon.
She creeps into friendly conversations, disguised as my laughter and says things like, “You have really bad teeth, stop smiling.”
My anxiety thinks we’re dating.
It’s annoying honestly;
Doesn’t let me swipe right, because I’ll never do better than him.
Like, “Come on you don’t look anything like those guys.”
Like, “Come on we have so much fun, just us two.”
Like, “You’re way more fun when you skip your Zoloft.”
She is a playful little imp.
They enjoy dancing across my scalp, itching & pricking as I try to pluck her out, Pack him up, put them away.
I can’t ever seem to catch him time and time again, and once I think I have, I notice it’s not her I’ve pulled out, as I stare at the mountain of my hair that now litters my pillow like cracking dry bones.
He… she’s not all bad though,
My anxiety can be pretty sweet.
He lets me stay up until 5:00AM watching shows I wish I starred in.
My anxiety whispers,”you’re not good enough.”
Then soothes me into a sweet slumber until afternoon the next day.
How nice of them, to allow me to not exist for a whole 12 hours, my anxiety can be nice that way.
Knows exactly how to woo someone like me.
My anxiety also keeps me safe…
He watches over my shoulder; Hawklike
Reminds me to lock the doors twice, to always look in my back seat before I pull off, to never believe a word people tell you.
It’s like a super-power honestly;
to always be able to tell when someone is lying.
They are always lying.
Like I’m a real boy; I’m always lying.
My anxiety reminds me I’m the chameleon.