anxiety scrabbles madly inside me.
even this rocking can’t soothe me
from the disaster waiting to happen,
whenever I try go out my front door.
The world hates me, always berates me,
for being a failure, for being alive,
for breathing the air in my house.
Don’t look at me that way that you do,
you’ve no right to judge me, demean me,
because I’ve already done that completely,
and certainly much better than you!
It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!