I love worry, because it makes me feel like I am someone.
If I didn't worry about this life, whether or not
this universe is fit for my existence,
then who would I be?
Nothing.
Less than nothing.
I wouldn't exist anymore.
And that's scary.
But now that I love worry,
rather than hate it,
it doesn't scoop me up and hold me.
It doesn't torment me,
because I love it.
Come here and be my friend, Mr Worry,
or are you Mrs?
Come here, please,
show me yourself, what you are made of,
your substance,
your essence.
Goodness, that feels good.
Where did you go?
You're gone.
YOU ARE READING
These Poems
PoesíaThese poems, I don't know where they come from, I don't know who they are for, or if they are for anyone. Perhaps they are just wild musings with no aim, Or perhaps they will touch someone, heal someone, or take that pain out of them like a surgery...
