They say variety’s a lively spice,
but I think there are hotter condiments.
A stress of any kind makes me feel twice
as much as difference does.
And for immense enlivening,
anxiety’s the seed
more mustardy,
the pepper
without pod,
the bark more bold
than cinnamon,
the weed abrupt as dill
but sharper and more odd.

Anxiety evokes the sourest sweat.
The most obnoxious headache’s born of stress.
The two are symbiotes,
and so upset the stomach that it makes the mind a mess.
They’re like infatuation.
They insist so forcefully
I’m struck where I exist.