Anxiety

  Anxiety is like sitting in a rose bush. I find a thorn in me and away I push. Trying to be free, even reborn. But all I get is another fear – another thorn. With the new virus the bush got wider. I ask myself, why do I even bother? The virus killed the writer in me? How do I get words through to thee? Please don’t forget my humble writing, All I can say I’ll keep on fighting. Fighting for afternoons without fear, If not entirely – sometimes I come near. I promise I’ll try to keep you posted in my posts, Even if every morning I wake up afraid of my own thoughts.   Take...