There’s this thing
in me.
It shifts and stretches,
and I can’t
breathe.
I fidget,
try to get comfortable,
but it’s growing,
and no position I sit in
relaxes me.
I feel like I can
reach my fist
into my chest
and feel something solid there.
Pull it out!
I get hot.
Everything’s too loud.
Shut up.
Just shut up!
This thing inside of me
twists with anger,
with irritation.
Everything bothers me,
from the hair pressing
against my neck
to the people I love
to my own loud thoughts.
The thing expands,
my ribs creaking as it pushes
from inside.
So heavy.
I’m at peace
when I sleep
because then I can ignore it.
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