Five worries, whole.
One self-image, diced.
Throw it in the pot;
Stir it once or twice.

One peeled and minced frustration;
A dollop of self-doubt;
One pound of pre-cooked paranoia
Just to round it out.

Add some coarsely chopped reflections,
One can (drained) of mental toil;
Then turn the whole mad mess on high
And bring her to a boil.

And when she's nice and bubbly,
Turn her down to Medium Low—
That way, you can keep her cooking
Nice and long and slow.

Watch it all begin to thicken
In one big churning, mushy mass…
What five-star fruitless desperation
Brews beneath the cookware glass!

Sometimes, thinking is crème brûlée,
Angel food cake, tiramisu.
Right now, it's the soupy sludge
Of too-long-stewing stew.