Rob Hyden Poems

My hero lives in a world filled with users, losers and snakes.
My hero is a man of character and would never be a fake.
My hero stands with pride and always steps up for the weak.
My hero is understanding and hears you when you speak.
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I relaxed my thoughts refreshed my mood and try to clear my mind.
This is my ritual preparing for battle against the anxiety grind.
The wave of stress and the smell of panic greets me at the door.
I take a deep breath, focus my thoughts and bravely enter the store.
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My quilt runs deep and my conscience is stone, my panic is burning all the way to the bone.
Fighting the battle and trying to survive, it’s becoming a challenge just staying alive.
My conscience is torn with memories of sin, it’s my inner battle I know I can’t win.
As I run from my past as fast as I can, I now fight my battles with paper and pen.
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I am the crazy person hiding in the dark, peaking through the windows and never leave a mark.
I’m hiding in the shadows and always dress in black; If you try to follow me you will never see my track.
I am the crazy person people don't acknowledge, I wish I had the dollars I would have gone to college.
Society turns its back and pushes us away; let me tell you something, we are here to stay
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A gentle wave of conscience laps against my moral sense of right.
My dark and guilty past has me searching through the night.
They see me as a quick and easy way to fuel their drug addiction.
I'm only seen as prey, not the second coming or the holy crucifixion.
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I walk the streets in my sleep late into the night, no one knows I’m not awake and I never start a fight.
I make my way to the store to fill my grocery list, I’m always calm and keep my cool I never shake my fist.
I walk the aisles and check the shelves looking for a deal, even though I’m sleeping I’m sure I never steal.
Picking through the produce looking for the best, I never get distracted and I never need to rest.
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My friends invite me out for an evening on the town.
I hesitate before I answer, sorry I have to let you down.
If I go I always I end up in dark and lonely corner.
I’m so scared with my panic, I make a better mourner.
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I suffer from an infliction a phobia you may say.
Some people call it mental illness others run away.
My mental health is not a threat to anyone but me.
Won't rub off or pass through germs, always virus free.
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Anxiety is a mental form of mind corruption, an uneasy feeling like a fearful interruption.
Hiding in the background until the time is right, living just below the surface but always out of sight.
Has no thoughts of gender or fueled by your race, it affects us in an instant then gone without a trace.
It causes all your fears, it’s the reason for your panic, it can easily throw you in an endless state of manic.
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I’m hanging by a thread of endless self-destruction, then my inner panic rises like a endless interruption.
All my haunting feelings of a painful darkened past, these are all the memories I know will always last.
I filled my life with sins and unrelenting pain, my guilt has taken over and eating at my brain.
Living with my panic is all I really know, it’s grabbing at my conscience and never lets me go.
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