Her Shaking Hands.
The thing about anxiety is
I may look fine from the outside, but
On the inside I am erupting like a volcano.
Except I do not get the privilege
To explode in public.
I am forced to hide the bubbling emotions
That try to break through my skin,
To burn my exterior so people will know
That I am not static,
That my energy is kinetic.
And if you look at me
From across the room
You will see a girl, head down, picking off
Her finger nail polish, periodically looking up
At the teacher so he doesn't
Call out on her,
So he thinks
She’s paying attention.
But there's so much more to it.
If you look at me from across the room
What you won't see is that
My whole body is being affected by an
Uncontrollable tremor,
And I cannot steady my hands long enough
To pick up a pencil. You won't see that I am
Picking my nail polish off because I've been trying to stop
Biting my nails for God knows how long,
But I can't,
I can't because my whole body is shaking, not because
The room is cold, but because
My thoughts won't stay still.
You won't see that behind the hair that
Falls over my face, that I am trying to
Suppress the feelings that are boiling inside of me.
You won't see that I'm looking from
My desk to my hands
To the teacher to the window
To the teacher to my desk to
My hands
To the teacher to the window
To the teacher to the window to
My hands and
Dammit
It happened again.
And now my hands are just another reminder of
How I damage everything I touch.
The thing about anxiety is some people can see it,
Some people see that my hands are not physically able
To level themselves flat in the air,
But they believe me when I say,
"I just have shaky hands."