I’m your therapist.
Exorcising the deamon of anxiety
But of the same I’m possessed.
A thin line lies between
Strengths and weaknesses I bear.
The relations I very well fix.
Are to me a predicament.
Beneficiaries of my art,
Celebrate love and life openly.
My pieces they dedicate joyfully.
But mine I cover up..
Anxious because I can do more,
But I don’t know how.
Because I m better than surrounding,
But I do no better.
Because they slip through the fingers,
Rather than hold in the palm.
Why would I not be?