The ball

There’s a ball in my chest

It spins and never settles

A sickening motion that never rests

A weighted ball made of indestructible metal

A ball of anxiety consistently boiling

like a malfunctioning kettle

There’s a ball in my chest

It grinds against my lungs

And expands when I’m distressed

It strangles the cords in my throat

And whisks away my every breath

There’s a ball in my chest

And I’m waiting for it to deflate

Still it lingers like an unwanted pest

Days pass and moments fade, I lose hope the longer I wait

There’s a ball in my chest

But I put it there, me

I swallowed it whole and fed it with insecurities

So I can’t complain

And can’t seek treatment

For the cause and solution is simple

The answer has always been me