Friendless fear

Nobody likes me.

And so a panic attack is drummed

up from this insistent

worry, enveloped in fear,

that I have no friends.

I make lists. These names

of every person I

consider a friend.

Categorized in outlines,

all my life’s connections

stack like a tiered cake

frosted in gaslit fear.

With years of collegiate

practice, my inner

bulimic tries to dazedly

forge ahead, indulging of

the impulse to minimize,

“oh but she doesn’t

actually like me” or “he

probably thinks I’m

stupid”.

At least through lists I

can see names on paper.

More than one. Trusting

the memory my fingers

held in their dance with

the pen – ink is true.

And know that

the intrusive thought was

wrong once again.

 

by Clementine Yost ©

 

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