i pick my nails off
like petals from a flower,
anxiously and mindlessly,
with no purpose but to cope with the destruction
of what lies beyond the field.
my brain seems to be floating
in a current of tea
that crashes violently against the walls of my head.
it will bob up and down,
and i will gasp for air,
but i do not always prevail.
my stem-like fingers
drum against the table in an inpatient rhythm.
i want to grow,
but tea is not a replacement for the water i lack.
no motivation, no water.
i seek a different anti-depressant,
something to drain out all this anxiety,
all this tea that swallows me whole.
plants cannot be watered with tea.
when will i realize that my methods are destructive
towards the garden inside of me?
growth is not possible when i drown myself in the wrong substances.
how can i stop this drought when it is i who caused it?
tea. anxiety.
