when you tell me to breathe

My anxiety is not a cartoon character or fluffy "monster" to be coaxed. 

My anxiety does not speak in comic sans or sing happy birthday songs. 

My anxiety is suicide. 

My anxiety is rape. 

My anxiety is torture.

It is not your play thing. 

It will spit in your mouth. 

And make you beg. 

It will squeeze your throat 

and force you to your knees. 

And be back again,

its hollow knock at your door;

depressing your lungs

and stealing your breath. 

You think you're cute 

with your creative tricks. 

Anxiety is a god 

that you will bow to

in time.