This Anxiety
This anxiety is a spear
that churns and burrows
turning to soot its surrounding flesh.
Every day it widens to fill my body’s
cavity, telling me I’m never going
to make it, neither are my husband nor
my children, shouting at me at
the corner store, from the rubber band
around the washing machine, from
electrical outlets, from monarch butterflies
that float close to my back window.
This anxiety doesn’t care if I pray or
stay the course of a disciplined morning –
it can smooth over for a bit but then it charges,
first digging at the dirt in relentless fury.
I think I should go on medication
but I won’t. I’ve lived so long with it
and I think it is mostly circumstantial –
having no material security nor hope for anything
but short-term survival.
I am not sure why Jesus doesn’t take it,
heal it with a snap even when I offer it
into the divine light-fold and ask
for mercy.
This anxiety makes me believe
it is me, that it is all I own and all
I am. It is so intense I cry,
left trying to just breathe. It is
exhausting to hold it at bay.
It is nearly impossible some days
to wake up, to face another
afternoon.
This anxiety is only anxiety
and I have my books, my writing,
my family and God. I have love
beyond expectation, on all sides
buffering me in, overpowering
this anxiety and the ways
this anxiety sometimes succeeds
in sabotaging my faith and flow.
.
.
Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2026
amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst
.
.
First published in “Synchronized Chaos” October 2026
https://synchchaos.com/poetry-from-allison-grayhurst-18/
.
.
You can listen to the poem below:
.
.