All poetry written by Anahi Chirinos
The anxiety is feeding you
for when days start tasting the same-
thousands of sluggish killer bees crawl over and under my knot-like insides-
sadly forbidding me to eat; for I am wholeheartedly eating myself alive-
Commanding me to attentively stroke one hand over the other; as I struggle to taste the realness of this world-
but at least my anxiety is feeding me-
Description: When you are full of anxiety that is all you are fed. Anxiety is as if you have “butterflies in your stomach” except it is amplified by 100 percent, which led me to compare anxiety to killer bees crawling your insides. Often feeling nervous is confused with anxiety, but the key difference is being nervous can last for a second, and anxiety feels like eternity.
Sadly it can cause derealization which is why I wrote “Commanding me to attentively stroke one hand over the other; as I struggle to taste the realness of this world” when all you are eating is anxiety the world starts to taste unreal.
My selcouth heart
I wholeheartedly crave the morbid urge to gauge my heart out,
to intimidatingly scrutinize
all the inner chambers,
veins that she owns
to fathom what is so wrong with her.
since no one else ever took the time to.
I would inquire the prolonged question,
Why are you not engrossed by the loud echoes of your nows like my mind is?
“For life is not a living word, it is a death sentence”- my heart replied to me.
“I would much rather nurture the thoughtful dream of when yours will run out of ink.”
-My heart and mind are on different pages
Description: This poem is about not understanding why your mind and heart are on different pages even when they are both in the same book-one body. Wholeheartedly urging yourself to analyze your heart and mind to figure out why they are conflicting. For some, life is not just one walkway, but it is divided in two. Your heart is awaiting your final times with life but your mind is anxiously murmuring to you to get up. These are two narratives that mental health issues can provoke.
My father is innocently guilty
This little boy’s silhouette was fetally curled on our couch one late night, a thin throw blanket scarcely covering his lofty body, after his capricious temper caused yet another remorseful altercation with my mother.
This little boy was the unloved outcast of his family- it was evidently protruding from his pores- resulting in his questionable life choices.
But for him, I would undeniably suffocate in his unconscious cries for help.
For he must surrender the taunting crows agonizing his heart's nest.
One of us should saunter down the path of healing.
This little boy is my father,
although the fatherly affection I was handed was the sad thick cigarette puffs I innocently pretended were his blown kisses.
I-without a doubt-would do anything for my father for he is an innocently guilty little boy.
Description: Coming to terms with the sentence “It is my parents’ first time living too” in a traditional Hispanic household is what this poem is about. Learning how to accept that our parents are the way they are because they know no other way to be. Forgiving and healing even when you have acknowledged that your parents are the reason why you have mental health issues.
The garden of life
my girlhood dawns on me with hiraeth; tears water the seeds of unhappiness.
my ethereal garden whispers of dwindling yellow, never red, chrysanthemum.
for life plucked all my pretty petals until I had none left.
I am a lifeless stem with Incessant negligent roots
now I wallow in the hollowness of the labyrinth that is my room.
the blossoming sways of lilies are the verities of my rigid leaves; secrecy is the dirt I lay in.
that is the garden of my life.
Description: This poem is the idea of nostalgically sauntering through the garden of your life. Viewing your life from the room you can’t get yourself out of, realizing we are all seeds with roots, and flowers blooming or dwindling depending on what stage of life you are in. Understanding that for certain people life got in the way of what was supposed to be a happy childhood, life plucking all the pretty petals they once had and causing them to water their own garden with their tears. Having a hard childhood can cause many explainable mental health issues.
When you spend an obscure amount of time in your mind, you start attempting to figure out the world around you and undoubtedly your own.
I started writing as a way to let all of my thoughts escape my strict mind. I wrote about what I saw, the way certain family members and friends have struggled in this world with anxiety, depression, and childhood traumas that led to undeniable mental health struggles, and the way even I have sadly set aside my own mental health struggles.
The innately forbidden language of mental health in the Hispanic community is what I had to deal with. It was difficult to talk to anyone about certain feelings because it was a language I didn’t speak — another reason why I started writing. I believed that if anyone else in this insanely complex world could resonate with and relate to what I was writing about, perhaps I could help them understand that they are not alone in what might feel like a constant loop of never-ending unsureness.
As of now, only a small number of individuals have read my poems, and thankfully the feedback has all been positive. I am thrilled to see what the future holds for me and my small but meaningful poems. I plan on writing my poetry book one day, filled with poems that I know will inspire everyone to push harder than their minds are pushing them.
I hope you enjoy these poems and will continue to fight for your well-being in the
open. We’re all in this together.