You know that moment

when you're walking down the street

and everything just feels right?

The beat in your headphones

matches your steps,

and for once,

it feels like everyone’s watching

in quiet admiration.

Even the wind

places your hair just right,

and somehow,

you feel invincible.

So you think

life is beautiful,

maybe this is it.

But no

that’s exactly when it hits you:

life is out there

to get you.

And that’s the whole point.

As you steal this time 

for it to last a little longer, 

you tell yourself 

half alive and half afraid 

the secret lies in the landing 

and not in the fall.

To audacious landings!

Almost Happy, My Ode to Anxiety!

think the major part of anxiety

is you convincing yourself

no good thing can ever happen to you.

You wake up,

start having a good day at work,

your boyfriend goes that extra mile

and suddenly, you tense.

Not visibly.

Not even to yourself.

But it takes away

your sense of control.

A life with a happy relationship,

a decent job

it doesn’t make sense.

So you take part in your own witch hunt.

You hound yourself,

believing life is suffering.

Or worse

that you’re not supposed to know anything beyond it.

The body issues,

the way you talk,

a beer or two without a workout

they become a death warrant

you willingly signed.

If not that,

then the relentless pressure:

buying a house,

getting a promotion,

getting married,

birthing a kid,

appeasing everyone.

But you know

you are better than this.

Your teachers saw you at the top.

Your friends say

you carry a zesty light that fills the room.

Still,

you remind yourself:

this is real life.

There is no main character.

You shouldn’t dare grab life by the collar

it must grab you.

They told you:

have mediocre dreams.

Live a mediocre life.

Be grateful

if your husband chooses to come home at night.

You reject those ideas

but still hold on to their core.

So when your boyfriend worships you

in a new dress,

or your manager thanks you for saving the day,

you get apprehensive.

You think

he will stop finding you attractive

if you stop showing your legs.

That little praise?

That’s all there will be.

The idea of a life

without labels,

without your age whispering

how slowly you’re moving—

ceases to exist.

You recite the four things

you can see,

touch,

feel.

You eat,

because your therapist said it helps.

You live

but from a third person’s point of view.

And as you wither into nothingness,

the dizzy feeling haunts you.

You reach for your phone,

rarely a friend

but mostly, a pretense

that things are fine.

You run

from yourself,

every single day.

And when you come back years later,

look inside

you feel sorry.

You feel sorry

that you never reached out

to save yourself

from you.