I lived with anxiety, with unceasing fear
Constantly worried of what happens this year.
I stayed isolated, pulled back from friends
Dreading the ones who visited on weekends.
I favored to stay alone, in my suffering to sit
Than meeting with loved ones and pretending to fit.
Smiling and nodding, cheering to life
Honestly I’d rather you pass me the knife.
Taking some time to heal and to mourn
Helped me stay alive, and now I feel reborn.
What to do next, where to go from here
Many possible answers, surely not disappear.
I found that with writing I got some relief
I discovered that words promote my belief.
What I’d love to do whenever not dreaming
“Writing!” I scream, it’s what gives me meaning.