The little rap on anxiety.

Deep in the woods where wild rivers rage, Lived an anxious beaver who dreamed of the stage. She danced and she sang to the moon's silver glow, But only in secret, no one could know. Each night she built a grand stage of her own, Then tore it all down before sunrise was shown. "What if they hear me? What if they see? What if they whisper and laugh about me?" Night after night, she built and she played, But fear made sure that it never stayed.

One evening, lost in a song, stage right, A rustle behind her filled her with fright. She froze in her steps, heart pounding with dread, As a small voice softly, yet kindly, said, "That was quite lovely, but why do you hide?" A skunk stood watching her, off to the side. Beaver's mind raced, her worries spun tight, What if he mocked her? Were his words a slight? The harder she thought, the more her chest clenched, A fog rolled in, and her body grew tense.

"I know what it's like to be misunderstood," Said Skunk as he stepped from the edge of the wood. "They call me Misunderstood Skunk, you see, Because no one stops to ask about me. People assume that I'll spray when I'm near, They never ask, they just run in fear. But truth be told, I spray out of fright, Only when startled, not out of spite. One quick glance, and they think they just know, But I never get the chance to show."

"You, dear beaver, spin worries inside, Believing in stories that no one supplied. No one has told you your voice isn't strong, Yet still, you fear that your notes will sound wrong." She blinked at the skunk, something shifting inside, Had she been hiding from fears she supplied?

The fog still lingered, thick in the air, So Skunk took a breath and said, "Try this, my dear. Fill up your belly, then blow out real slow, Like wind through the trees, just let your breath go." She followed his lead, inhaled smooth and wide, Exhaled in a whisper, and felt calmer inside. She gazed at her stage, still standing, still tall, And wondered, what if she didn't tear it down at all?

So that night, for the first time in all of her days, Anxious Beaver let her stage stay. And when morning arrived, with a golden hue, A critter or two stopped by for the view. And there in the daylight, without any fright, Her voice rang strong, and her heart felt light.