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The Poem Of Her

Holly Stark

I say I don’t like her.
I hate her.
She’s always here, every second, never once leaving me alone.
She is here in the good times and the bad times, gripping so tightly, making me feel weak from the inside.
She gives me butterflies that rise up and stay no matter how bad I want them to go.
Butterflies, they rise up and you can almost feeling like your choking on them, gasping for air.
She makes every situation feel like it’s the end of the world, and if I don’t know exactly what’s gonna
happen next everything will go wrong.
She wont let me sleep, eat or even let me live what’s so called a “normal life”.
But at least she’s there through it all.
And in the rare moments she’s gone I find myself trying to find her because that’s the only familiar feeling
I’m used too.
I hate her, but she’s all I’ve ever known and she’s the one who’s made me stronger but weaker at the same
time and I’ve learned to live life with her.
I may feel alone but I’m not, I have her, I have anxiety.

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