anxiety has a home

inside my diaphragm,

and he dug a hole

inside my heart. 

 

I watch it grow deeper

as my feet get flightier;

I wasn’t built to be broken,

wasn’t made a fighter. 

 

I’m tired of expectations that make 

a perfect person not,

all the subtle flirtations

that make a friendship rot.

 

Still, I dream of breathing deep

cologne and lovers lust,

forgetting how little

I can truly trust. 

​