My anxiety is like a guest that lives inside of me
And never remembers to pay its rent.
Yet over time, I’ve learned to become the perfect host
I take it along with me, everywhere I go.
My anxiety always knew that the popular kids only wanted my notes,
Even though some of them ate lunch with me sometimes.
My anxiety helps me to pick every outfit
So it isn’t too short. Too tight. Too teasing. Too Revealing.
It asks me to recheck the answer to seven times eight.
And I frantically press the calculator buttons. 7. x. 8.
It pushes me to study an extra hour or two,
Till I find myself asleep on an open book.
It advises me to scroll endlessly on excel sheets
To find an error buried deep inside cross checked figures.
But to give credit where it’s due,
my anxiety has never let me miss attaching a file when I say “PFA”.
My anxiety calls and checks on my parents
Even on days I forget to take a shower.
Mostly, it leaves me a little too prepared
For a life that doesn’t let you prepare at all.
My anxiety doesn’t want to be glorified
and find home in your art.
It’s immune to your advice to, “Not Overthink”
and wishes you’ve tied your laces well, so you don’t fall.