Anxiety Poetry

It’s 4:30 AM, and I’m awake with anxiety. 

I’ve been awake since 2:30.  

My mouth and throat are so dry that when I swallow, everything sticks to everything else.  And yes, I keep water next to the bed.

I want to pack up my loved ones and set out on an adventure to a new planet not infested with greed, hate, and cruelty; one in which when one cannot eat, no one eats; one in which when one is sick, we all work a little harder so that the absence in her place in the clockwork is barely noticeable and the cost of the cure is simply recovering.  

I want to live in a world in which all realize that the value of each individual human is immeasurable.  My stories are just as important to our ability to function as a society as her ability to grow food, or his ability to start a fire, but we all pitch in at the harvest.  I want “enough” to be plenty for anyone, and for each of us to rejoice in the knowledge that no one suffers unnecessarily.