The author of this poem chooses to remain anonymous.
| It is my head that does me in each time... It starts off with some restless foot tapping, some rapid head scratching, some teeth clenching and brow furrowing. Before i know it I'm a bundle of nerves. Anxiety is bad for the skin. Skin i crave to break, carve into, And for a moment Be still. I cry I wail I pace I rock Something must be done! So i make a mark On a crisp blank sheet of white Smooth As skin And i direct the flow of the Anger, the Disquiet Into words and Images A civilized expression for a primitive urge to scream. |