I've gotten oddly good at being in the mist of a panic attack and no one knowing.
I've perfected the art of the casual smile while my insides are fighting each other to the death. I know where to place my line of vision so know one will ask why my eyes looks so strained as I hold back tears of frustration and anxiety.
When I'm in a full on panic attack, it's ugly. It's fists to walls and pulling my own hair. It's random bouts of screaming and so many tears, if you were to catch all of them the world would never go thirsty. It's me sitting in front of a mirror touching my face trying to remember if I'm awake or not. It's me laying in the floor knees to chest trying to remember the pattern for breathing.
It's me, sitting in class, laughing at the joke my best friend just made.
It's me, everyday.
YOU ARE READING
LETTERS I'LL NEVER WRITE
Poesiasome things I had wished I told people, some things I should never tell anyone. All writings belong to me, myself, & i.
