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TheplishkPoems
There was a feeling at the back of my throat that I just couldn’t swallow I lived with it the way that I live with a song that gets stuck in my head Then it began to migrate to my eyes to my stomach to my knees I could taste it every time I tried to breathe my chest would shake My throat vibrating staccatos as I exhaled I needed somewhere to lay my head until I could choke it down or cough it out. The feeling was a little rubber ball It had no color It had no name It bounced around in my head, much more dangerous than a song This rubber ball was mine and it might never fade If I couldn’t sing it out or give it to someone else I’d be stuck with my rubber ball until they take it away When no one is looking I throw my rubber ball I smash it on the rough concrete outside in the street Sometimes I aim it at the bare light bulb high on the ceiling. My rubber ball is bruised and scratched and burned. This rubber ball that is mine doesn’t count. I don’t want it. They will take it away with the feeling at the back of my throat that I’m not big enough to swallow
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May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
Little Rubber Ball
There was a feeling at the back of my throat that I just couldn’t swallow I lived with it the way that I live with a song that gets stuck in my head Then it began to migrate to my eyes to my stomach to my knees I could taste it every time I tried to breathe my chest would shake My throat vibrating staccatos as I exhaled I needed somewhere to lay my head until I could choke it down or cough it out. The feeling was a little rubber ball It had no color It had no name It bounced around in my head, much more dangerous than a song This rubber ball was mine and it might never fade If I couldn’t sing it out or give it to someone else I’d be stuck with my rubber ball until they take it away When no one is looking I throw my rubber ball I smash it on the rough concrete outside in the street Sometimes I aim it at the bare light bulb high on the ceiling. My rubber ball is bruised and scratched and burned. This rubber ball that is mine doesn’t count. I don’t want it. They will take it away with the feeling at the back of my throat that I’m not big enough to swallow
poems from my twenties
Theplishk
Written by
Theplishk
Genderqueer/canada
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
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