March at home

March poems in the sun sound like:

“Fresh faced and youthful
Embracing the struggle and far too Truthful
Stepping outside the perimeters of what you know – a city, a place,  a school, a lifetime
The mirror you can’t face
The fear that you could so easily be  replaced
Anxiety grips you tight in your chest
Like an unrelenting lifelong test
Reminding you how far you have to go
And so you go
They tell you it’s the time of your life,
‘Why aren’t you drinking? Why aren’t you like us?
This is what you’re meant to do.’ Play the game and conform
to be adored by those you implore
And Silence your intense curiosity
Because thinking for yourself is surely an atrocity
The wall is slowly coming down
And she’s aware that she may drown
You stayed the night but couldnt sleep
You hurt inside,  you’re in too deep
You peer deeply at the lines on his face underlying  all the stories he has faced
And realise that the only person who could understand you was someone with anxiety  themselves.
And yet you still question your place
Of worthiness, of deservingness, of disgrace
Because all youve known is attachment and anything else is far too much for you to face.”