The Labyrinth

Most days my mind feels like the inside of a pumpkin— tangled, stringy, goopy, I wish I could just carve myself  from the inside out, scraping out every last anxious ruminating cyclical thought, but anxiety is the Minotaur and the labyrinth that imprisons it, it is the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh Hydra head when…


Have you ever tried  to shake out laundry  drying on a line  of any bees that might have made your jeans  a temporary home? That is what it feels like trying to empty out my head before bed— just trying to free these bees before they sting me  in my sleep.


Anxiety is feeling like the universe  will grab me by the ankle hang me upside down  and shake me loose of all my integrity.