the Jitters

Where does it start?
In the pit of my stomach;
it curdles and clings,
it slithers and stings,
it does all these things
to me.

It persists like a mist and sits
on my chest, a stone, unknown,
a foreign-language poem,
fizzing like foam ’til I’m
soaked like a soup 
in anxiety.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Hannah’s Day 10 poem for NaPoWriMo! Our prompt for yesterday was to use local slang for a type of weather in our poem. I used “it curdles” and “soaked like a soup”, which are apparently French phrases for cold, rainy weather.

I wrote this poem in a rush – I had to dash off to a presentation by my boss – and originally had “nerves” as the closing word. Later, I read over it and thought, “Why on earth didn’t I use the word ‘anxiety’? It rhymes with ‘me’!” So… I changed it 😉