Anxiety, I guess, is a matter of definition,

I don’t have a good one so I say no,

I am not anxious; it is just a phase,

It will pass soon, nobody notices,

Only I can see the letters; awaiting,

Unopened and stacked; in piles so neatly,

Ring tones disabled; a bliss of silence,

An answering machine in a cloud; dead,

They ring a doorbell laughing out loud,

I refuse to open doors; unless agreed upon,

I am not anxious; it is just a phrase,

The emails you sent me will be read;

not just yet as I keep myself to myself,

Avoiding sharing to keep you safe,

You might worry for not knowing,

But telling; is opening,

A door long since locked,

Welded shut; and

Buried