Dear Anxiety, I don't know what to say to you. I've spent years at this computer, Attempting to articulate my words,
But I always froze, And that scared me.
Because since I could pick up a pen I've had this passion, This passion for weaving words into an intricate blanket of expression and feeling.
But you were ripping away my pen, My mind was hindered, By all the thoughts I couldn't manage.
You had already taken my peace,
You had already taken my peace, My comfort,
You had already taken my peace, My comfort, My control,
You had already taken my peace, My comfort, My control, My identity...
The one thing I thought you'd never take was my passion.
Yet there you were, Tying my hands, Preventing me from writing what my heart needed to declare. This was the last straw.
You just couldn't understand the magnitude of such a loss. Writing is my heart and soul, My life and breath. I knew I couldn't fight you, But that I had some room to grow.
I set out to determine how to live harmoniously with you. Unfortunately I was unsuccessful.
But what I discovered instead, Was how to write this letter.
Anxiety... You've taken so much from me, But you won't take this.