This is a another new poem.
Anyone have anxiety?
I was like, you're all liars, really.
[LAUGHTER]
Everyone has anxiety.
Or you're just hiding it really well.
''My therapist wants to know about my relationship to work.
[LAUGHTER]
I hustle upstream.
I grasp, I grind.
I control and panic.
Poke balloons in my chest.
Always popping there, always my thoughts, thump, thump.
I snooze, wake and go boom.
All day like this.
I shorten my breath.
I scroll and scroll.
I see what you wrote, I like, I heart.
My thumb so tired.
My head bent down but not in prayer.
Heavy from the looking.
I see your face.
Your phone lit faces.
I tap your food two times from more hearts.
I retweet.
I email yes and yes and yes.
Then I cry.
And you just say, no, no, no.
Why does it take so long to reply?
I FOMO and shout.
I read a never-enough new book, new post.
New ping, a new tab.
Then another.
Papers on the floor scattered and stacked.
So many journals and broken white spines waiting.
Did you hear that new new?
I start to text back ellipses then I forget.
I bulk, I laze in the bed.
I wallow when I write.
I truth when I lie.
I throw a book when a poem undoes me.
I underline Clifton, today we are possible.
I start from image.
I begin with Phillis Wheatley.
I begin with Phillis Wheatley reaching for coal.
I start with a napkin receipt on my hand.
I muscle the memory.
I stutter the page.
I fail, hit delete, scratch out one more line.
I sonnet then break form.
I make tea, use two bags.
Rooibos again.
I bathe now.
Epsom salts.
No books or phone, just water and the sound of water filling.
Glory be my buoyant body, bowl of me.
Yes, lavender, more bubbles and bath balm.
Of course, some candles too.
All alone with Coltrane, my favorite.
Naima for his wife, not for me.
Inside my own womb Again, I child back.
I float, I sing.
Eyes simple and humble.
Eyes close.
I lower my voice.
Was it a song?
I don't know but I stopped.'"
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]