Poems about Anxiety (Poems for the Depressed)
These poems about anxiety are poetry can evoke our feelings when we are embarking on unfamiliar territory, whether alone or with others.
Poems about Anxiety
We are reminded that poetry can support us in adjusting to new realities and evaluating the unknowns that lie ahead when significant aspects of our life seem to change suddenly.
Breathe (Poems about Anxiety)
Panic, worry, darkness closing in around me.
These are some of the words I could use to describe my anxiety,
but nothing I can say could speak of its entirety,
as I cry internally thinking I’ve lost my sanity.
Doctors, counselors, saying there’s something wrong with me.
My parents telling me to calm down and stop being so crazy.
But how can I calm down when the world around me
is spinning out of control and I can barely see?Breathe. You will get through this.
You will get through the sleepless nights,
all the internal fights,
and the days that seem right
when the world hits you with all its might.Breathe. You will get through this.
I know you think I’m overreacting about the silliest little things,
but to me those silly little things seem like the doom the world could bring.
Can’t you see, a spilled glass of milk to you can seems like an earthquake to me.I know it might be hard to understand my anxiety,
but I hope today I have given you some clarity.
So the next time someone is scared and feels like they can’t breathe,
shaking and crying, unable to see,
don’t tell them they’re overreacting; don’t call them crazy.
Help them realize there is more to life than this misery,
and no matter the doubt inside, they will be who they are meant to be.Breathe. I will get through this.
Because I know I am more than just my anxiety,
and one day I hope to be free of it entirely.
But until then, I will keep telling myself, quietly,
I am stronger than this. I am stronger than my anxiety.
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Restless Nights (Poems about Anxiety)
I’m breaking;
I can’t be fixed.
I’m missing,
But I won’t be missed.Still shaking
From what I fear.
I can’t let you in,
So don’t come near.I guess you’re right;
I’m way too thin,
And I’m fighting a battle
That I’ll never win.I have so many flaws;
I don’t know where to start
From my messed up hair
To my messed up heart.So what’s the point
To continue to fight?
When my restless days
Turn into restless nights.This life hasn’t been fair.
I can finally tell
That nobody cares,
And it hurts like hell.I still don’t understand
What was God’s cause?
Why did He put me on earth
With all of my flaws?Was I born just to die?
Am I part of a plan?
Made to finally see
That I won’t die an old man.I don’t know how to live.
I have nothing to gain,
And all I want from you
Is to end all my pain.I’m losing sight
Of what I’ve already seen.
I’m losing my grip,
And I’m barely seventeen.
By, Pete Sciarrino
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Another Breakdown (Poems about Anxiety)
It’s hard when you’re always lying,
Always hiding the way you feel.
Losing your sight on truthful words,
Forgetting what is real.It’s hard when you forget to laugh
And you’re scared that someone might see.
Hoping no one saw your face,
As you struggle to remember how to breathe.It’s hard to pretend you’re happy,
And you’re terrified someone might ask.
It’s becoming harder every day;
It’s becoming quite a task.You feel when your body shakes,
As it searches for something to hold.
Though the temperature feels hot,
Your heart and mind feel cold.Your throat feels like it’s closing,
And your legs feel like they’re weak.
You try your hardest to grasp a breath,
But there’s not even enough to speak.Your hands remain unsteady,
And your heart pounds like a drum,
And even though you can barely walk,
You fight the urge to run.You scream as the world starts spinning,
And your knees drop straight to the ground.
You realize in that moment
You’re just having another breakdown.
By, Shaydee A. Ault
Just Because (Poems about Anxiety)
Just because I have a smile on my face,
It doesn’t mean that I don’t cry when I’m alone.
Doesn’t mean I don’t have problems,
Doesn’t mean I’m not dying inside.
All it means is that I can look past the negative in my life.Just because I laugh a lot,
It doesn’t mean I’m happy,
Doesn’t mean my life is perfect.
You don’t know me, you don’t know my story,
You don’t know what I’ve been through.Just because I self-harm,
It doesn’t mean I’m suicidal,
Doesn’t mean I’m going to hack at my arm in the middle of class
Or attack you with a scalpel.
All it means is that the pain is getting too great.Just because I have scars,
It doesn’t give you the right to judge me,
Ostracize me like some sort of alien,
When instead you should be my friend.
Those scars mean that I’m real.
Look past them and see the real me.
By, Melanie
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The Pit
I sit alone in the dark.
The sun is shining, birds chirping, children playing,
But all that surrounds me is darkness.
Every time someone says, “Cheer up,”
I sink deeper into my pit.
The hole my brain has dug for itself.
The serotonin that refuses to pass through my synapses.
This is depression,
The unspoken disease.
I sink deeper in my pit.
People tell you to “be happy,” “smile more,” “just get out of the house,” “you’re holding yourself back.”
I smile and say, “I’ll try. Thanks,” and give a little chuckle.
What an act!
I suffer alone.
I do not want their useless words.
They do not understand.
How could they?
I sink deeper in my pit.
My eyes close and I picture respite.
But in this dream, there are pills, ropes, knives, chemicals, and ledges.
No, that won’t do. But it sounds so nice.
I sink deeper into my pit.
The light is gone. I sleep all day.
The dream world is where I am happy.
Away from people.
Away from life.
I sink deeper into my pit.
Colors are nonexistent.
Black and white are my world–minus the white.
Snowballing through gritty streets,
Turning the pristine ball of hope into a filthy mound of broken dreams.
I sink deeper in my pit.
Depression stays by my side.
My only friend.
But this friend, well,
He is the one who talks behind your back.
The one who makes fun of you to get ahead.
This is the guy who pushes you to the ground and then laughs.
This is the one who you cling onto because you have no one else.
I sink deeper in my pit.
I finally muster up the courage.
I scream for help.
But by now, no one can hear me.
No one wants to hear me.
I have pushed them all away.
Why am I still here?
Because I don’t want to die.
But I do.
I am so confused.
Death greets me when I knock on his door.
I meant to play ding dong ditch.
But no, Death has seen me.
He says, “My turn,” and gives me a knife.
The knife is white like an angel.
So full of innocence. Made for chopping carrots for a stew.
I am to taint this knife with my blood.
The blood of depression.
I sink deeper in my pit.
Death winks and says, “Let’s pick up the pace. I don’t have all day.”
I reply, “You’re right, neither do I.”
So I hand him the knife.
I say, “I’ll see you another day.”
I wonder why I turned down that sweet, sweet offer.
I see my mom. She is finally breathing.
No air had passed through her lungs while I was gone.
Someone cares.
I see a rope crawling down my pit.
I grab hold and shout, “I’m ready.”
I ascend the walls of my pit, slowly.
It takes years.
I meet therapists and friends who care.
I talk to my past and say, “Go away.”
I am still climbing.
This is a journey.
I get so tired, sometimes slipping back.
But I hold on tight.
I don’t let go.
I don’t give up.
By, Jacob Kahn
Poets are enquirers and searchers. They delve into the void and contribute to giving it form.
The poems below contain hard-won wisdom and insights, yet most of the time it is just the naming of the dread.
Daily Time Poems.
