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

Tread upon.

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.