I Cannot Put My Finger On It

The frustration rises, like bile To fill my chest I feel a knot in my stomach A pit of vipers writhing. The eyes are watching my every move As I feel I can’t do right For doing wrong. I can’t put my finger on it Yet I know it’s not real. I know in my logical mind That I am worthy, I am just, A work horse well-laden with responsibilities. Still plays the stuck 78 In the back of my head ‘They will find you out’ ‘They will see you as you are’. Extremities ache with fear, The constant need to move Before the pain returns, To sharpen my anxiety To mock me. I can’t put my finger on it But the feeling remains Imposter syndrome doesn’t even cover it How each action fells As negative as the depths Of an Antarctic winter. Nausea waves, my feet crippled Their need to move Yet wracked with debilitation. Why do I feel this guilt This vomit inducing Tear rendering guilt That one day they will see me Just as I am. Realise I’m not who they thought I was. I have been hiding in plain sight. A spectre at the feast. For now I have to carry on, Pushing through Worker harder than ever But feeling retrograde motion. This is true anxiety, The unfounded, The unjustified The undefinable I just can’t put my finger on it.