I think overthinking is carved deep in my skin.

It runs its roots up like veins to my heart,

Planting itself in my chest.

Outstretching it’s limbs it reaches

Reaches to the far corners of my skull,

Twists around my brain,

Tells me if I don’t have it I have nothing.

It’s leaves fall and settle in my stomach,

Weigh me down with pressures.

Despite that,

I feel its blossoms in my chest,

I know I’m smart,

Capable.

It’s buds come up and spill out of my mouth,

In big sentences and planned speech.

It’s deep seated familiarity is ever present,

And although I tend to hate it,

I’m grateful for it,

For without it,

Who on earth would I be?