Anxiety is like watching a movie where
you’re the lead actor and each scene gets worse –
countless calamities occur, eventually ending in
one big tragedy – meanwhile, you sit alone
in the dark theater and worry and cry,
your muscles tense, your stomach sick,
‘till you can’t breathe no more.
(Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash)
I step inside Mrs. Dalloway’s mind:
it twists, turns – I’m lost in the maze,
as she spills thoughts on the page –
a link to her consciousness;
it’s a stream that overflows,
breaks embankments, floods my psyche
‘till I put the book down,
lest my mind goes manic and
doesn’t come back.
(Photo credit: A portrait photo of Virginia Woolf from Britannica.com).
Note: This poem was inspired by Mrs. Dalloway, the classic novel by Virginia Woolf. I’m reading it now, and I love it, but I’ve had to put it down a couple of times because I felt like it was triggering a manic episode.
The end is closer than we think,
the wild-eyed prophet says.
He, who has spent time in psych wards,
sees visions of hellfire at corner stores.
What are these images of demons and flashes of inspiration?
Continue readingThe writerly musings of Connie J. Jasperson, author, blogger and medieval renaissance woman.
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