Free Xpresion

Me and my anxiety are this close, son! We been intimate more closely than my right hand knows the ridges of my penis. We have shared secrets that no lover of mine No mother of mine Even knows. We are so close, we finish each other's ... whisky. My anxiety is like that old friend you lost touch with for years but meet again and it seems like time stood still.  We run through all the old dreadful tropes of loss and despair, reels of film play through me like an endless marathon of failure. My anxiety is like a memory mattress, she hugs me in all the wrong places, bringing back memories of all the stressful thoughts I thought I had misplaced or forgotten.  As a bonus, she comes with a weighted blanket, reminding me that I am not alone; I have her, and that is enough. My anxiety is a boomer or at least considers herself one.  She is easily triggered and doesn't have any concept of nuance.  I mean, she insists that there is no difference betwee...

I am no ordinary people Lonely in a room full of people Tears shed for my lost people I am no ordinary people Yet my heart beats in sync with the people My lungs draw on the breath of the people I am no ordinary people A grain of sand in this ocean of people Rubbed different than any of my people I seek redress for my people The hurts like osmosis is concentrated on one side of my people Will my end reduce the pain of my people? I am not ordinary people And there are millions of us wishing to die for our people. I will not be the first to end it all for my people. For my people is me.