mindlessly tapping
my fingers to my thumbs;
my method of self-regulating.
index, ring,
middle, pinky—
again, again, again.
anxiety makes his grand entry
and sends that eerily familiar
chill down my spine.
and like the monster he is,
he sends me into a panic
for the sixth time this week.
i suddenly remember the
cherry flavoured sucker
that sits in my purse,
and wonder if maybe
this can put my mind
at ease once again.
i pull the candy out,
and i hesitate to
peel back the wrapper.
i feel everyone's prying eyes
as i stare at the bright red,
paper that seals the sucker.
despite anxiety's protests,
i open that wrapper.
i am disappointed, and oddly
unsurprised, to discover that
the sucker had broken
into segments of three.
i study its cracks and crevices;
rough, jagged corners fitting
together like the pieces of a puzzle.
somehow, this broken sucker
is a comforting reminder that
we all break sometimes.
and despite these cracks,
we find a way to function as if
if we were in the pristine condition
that everyone wishes we were in.
we learn to adapt and to push through—
despite the cracks, the sucker is still edible.
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
