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