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 care,

Helena Smole, author of:

– a fantasy novel with romance Vivvy and Izzy the Dwarf: A series about relationships

– Balancing the Beast, a book offering a bright view of schizoaffective disorder ˗ bipolar or manic-depressive type