The problem with her problems
Is that it was incredibly hard to gain perspective about them,
To ration her level of concern appropriately
And tune out the noise of her stomach-churning tendency
Of vividly imagining the worst case scenario.
Her flashes of panic could not distinguish
Whether the pain in her head
Was an innocent headache
Or the early signs of a brain tumour,
Or whether the pain in her foot
Was a pebble in her shoe
Or a vicious nail that she’d ill-fatedly
Her mind, it seemed
Was an inescapable hall of mirrors
Finding danger where there was none
Making monsters out of thin air.
She soon learned that rather than pray
For clearer paths,
Free of pebbles and nails alike,
She would rather pray for the soundness of mind
To know the difference.