Anxiety here is something you feel in your body before you can explain it. The poem opens with a list of physical symptoms: cold sweat, quick breath, a churning stomach, drumming fingers. The short, clipped lines work like a pulse, so the reader picks up the speaker's tension almost straight away.
The middle section moves from the body to the mind. The quoted thoughts, such as "They're all staring," "I'll mess up," and "Oh, how embarrassing," sound like a fearful inner voice that keeps predicting the worst. The speaker seems afraid of being judged in front of other people, and the unfinished, slightly messy lines suggest a mind too rattled to think neatly. Then the poem returns to restless habits like nail biting, hair twirling, and teeth clenching. The closing image of "tiny clocks" ticking "a million times a day" suggests that this nervousness never really switches off. The mood is jittery, tiring, and trapped, with no relief at the end.