All of the thoughts in my head act as fog,
clarity becoming unknown to me.
Anxiety grasps its slimy fingers around my neck
whispering (lies) to me.
I'm hopeless. Helpless. Alone.
But when I hear the laughter of the people I love
or a kitten's soft mews
or pages turning in a book,
When I smell fresh baked cookies
or my favorite perfume
or smoke from a fireplace,
Or when I see a drop of rain
or my purring kitten
or the smiling face of a friend,
Everything becomes clear to me and I'm able to breathe. I'm able to write.
I am able.
And everything is alright.