My anxiety looks and feels
the same as my fathers
We’ve never talked about it
but I can recognize it
in the way my mother talks
about the nights he stays awake in bed,
his heart heavy from giving so much away
I’m working on trying
to create with my hands
and love with my heart
Every so often,
I find myself doing the opposite
My mother cried
the day that she broke her favorite mug
I am slowly learning how to be okay
being fragile like this
I am slowly learning how to be okay
with my own softness,
to be okay with my own strengths
