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?


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