Feeling annoyed, like a constant drip from a faucet, wearing down your patience drop by drop?

Feeling ashamed, wanting to put a cloak around you and hide from the world?

Feeling bored, like a book with blank pages, unsure of what story will unfold?

Feeling defensive, like a porcupine with its quills raised, ready to strike back at the slightest touch?

Feeling disappointed, like a kite caught in a tree, grounded before it could fly?

Feeling judgmental, like a critic reading someone else’s book, focusing on the typos and missing the tale?

Feeling embarrassed, like a fern coiling tightly, wanting to disappear into the safety of its own spirals?

Feeling empty, like a barren tree in the middle of winter?

Feeling excluded, shunned like a lone wolf, wandering the shadows without a pack?

Feeling exhausted, like your bones are too heavy to hold up, and the ground is your only relief?

Feeling frightened, like you’re lost in a forest and the silence presses down, swallowing your voice?

Feeling furious, like a wildfire spreading uncontrollably, consuming everything in its path?