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Anxiety - NATASHA ZAMAN

Anxiety

Some days I wake up with good grace
for the clouds that shade
the golden, glistening, goddess of a gaze.
Some days I remain asleep.

On the days I remain asleep
I curse, cuss, culpae
— for leaving me in the dark and in the deep —
the cold contours, curvatures of the clouds.

I’m in the dark and I’m in deep.
The shards slice my feet wide,
So wide, my memories ran out of fuel and are onto their final leap.
I’ve forgotten I left the shards for my feet.

On the days I remain asleep, I’m a wounded animal.
I need the golden, glistening, goddess of a gaze 
as people, too, their lover’s gaze.
I curse, cuss, culpae the cold contours, curvatures of the clouds.

Some days I remain asleep.
The sleep offers me no respite;
what I require is the golden, glistening, goddess of a gaze 
to find my way without a spite.

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