Poem: Anxiety, Another Day

It is the still raw scar upon the skin

constant irritation, ceasless excoriation –

pummeling, eroding from within

tattered doubt in its wake and whim.

Yet I reach out, for the oils promising to sooth

and gingerly, tenderly, applied

or carefully imbibed they oft do;

please, I whisper, please heal soon.

 

 

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