I find myself judging me
for things done in anxiety.
The things I should be doing
eat at me, whispering in my ear deafeningly.
I cannot grow a care…
Though I know the reasons that I should.

The things that would happen
are just as bad,
telling me how important it is
and why I should be sad.
Instead the urging only
reverses my mind to anger quixotically,
making a monster of the rage building deep inside of me.,

The could be is somehow worse,
for in me, these are the ones that hurt.
I feel like I am not enough,
because I can not make them happen
no matter how hard I try.

So the should, the would, and the could,
each have their place
in stretching my anxiety
into another day.
They make me into a nervous wreck,
weighing each mistake
as a possibility.
Fighting the trio
I become a careless me.