In Case of Anxiety, Break the Bank
Will you hold your breath when anxiety knocks on your door?
Will you portal into a wishing well on a cloudland tucked away in your capillaries? Will you try to speak when the shards of broken wind chimes clog your pulmonary arteries?
Will you swing on the pulley like a trapeze artist at the Jumbo Circus you begged Ma to visit? Will your hands spiral like Icarus when you are sun-kissed?
When your thought trains have a nervous breakdown, there is a stampede of passengers in your windpipe. When humans read the poetry of the Earth to keep themselves alive. When your passions are folded by society like secret school notes. When an off-key Moonlight Sonata bathes in your throat. Then, please proceed as follows:
๐๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต ๐ง๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ:
A blow straw painting of lightning in the sky.
๐๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ค๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ค๐ช๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ฉ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ?
Indian autumns ignited in vintage lamps.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ต๐ช๐ค ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ณ๐ถ๐ฎ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ข ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.
An address book of self-hatred.
๐๐ด ๐ช๐ต ๐ฏ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ช๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ด๐ฎ ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง-๐ฑ๐ช๐ต๐บ?
A handcrafted jewelry box in the attic.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ต๐ช๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ซ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ข๐ป๐ข๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐๐ช๐ต๐บ.
A vanity mirror with an array of makeup and toxic positivity.
๐๐ข๐บ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง-๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ดโ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ฑ๐บ.
๐๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ:
Fingers carving crescent moons on the inside of your palms.
๐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ข๐ฑ๐ฉ๐บ๐ด๐ช๐ค๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ด๐ค๐ณ๐ช๐ฃ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด.
You trip on jump ropes of consciousness.
๐๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ, ๐ข ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ง๐ญ๐บ ๐จ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด.
Carmine bites on your lips.
๐๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฉ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ญ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ด ๐ด๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต๐บ ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ด.
Overblown balloons filling up your chest.
๐๐ข๐ฑ๐ช๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ป๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ท๐ช๐ณ๐ต๐ถ๐ข๐ญ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ด.
๐๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ:
Art whispers, โThere is no wrong way to be holyโ
๐๐ฆโ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ค๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ข๐ง๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฃ๐ช๐ต๐ด ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐น๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ.
Humdrum of the market where identities are bartered at the magic shop.
๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ช๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ค๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ธ๐ข๐ณ๐ง๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ 1857 ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ.
The sound of panic when a child leaves your finger and runs with light-up sneakers in your mind.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ฎ๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ต, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ-๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ต๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฑ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐บ ๐ง๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐จ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด.
๐๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต ๐ต๐ธ๐ฐ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ด๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ:
The turpentine of rage tucked into the deepest folds of your braids.
๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ง ๐ช๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ต๐จ๐ข๐จ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ค๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ณ๐ต.
The breath of fabric softener in handknit sweaters of metaphors.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐๐ฆ๐ฏ๐จ๐ข ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ต.
๐๐ฏ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ:
The taste of leftover hope.
๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ค๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ข ๐ธ๐ช๐ด๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ณ๐ถ๐ฆ.
Humans read poetry of the Earth to keep themselves alive. Healing begins when you start writing one.
//โ๐๐ฏ ๐๐ข๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ฏ๐น๐ช๐ฆ๐ต๐บ, ๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ฌโ// enigma
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