Needs Me The Most

 

I make myself nervous

when I try to relax,

there’s too much me in there,

in the silent deep breaths,

it makes me too worried

about hearing myself in

front of myself.

 

It’s like being naked

in front of the mirror and thinking,

“Well, that’s not how I remember that,

or that’s not how I thought I looked at

all.” And blushing as I look at

what has happened to my body.

 

The refection in the mirror,

so confident and real,

shames me for thinking that

I won’t be okay, that everything

won’t work out the way it should;

the reflection, a judging carnivore of peace.

 

Even with my eyes closed,

meditating, I worry that I’m

doing it wrong. Then I am

breathing too fast, then too slow,

then not enough or not at all.

I open my eyes and swear.

 

“Shit,” I say.

“Calm the frig down you loon.

It’s just breathing and silence,

rest for the eyes and mind.”

“Shut up,” I reply, “I know what

I’m doing.”

 

But I lie.

Because I don’t know.

I’m too anxious to admit it

to myself, because I don’t want

to let myself down, when I need

me the most.