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Bubbles
January 6, 2022
Sitting deep in my
Stomach
There are bubbles.
Little
Tiny
Bubbles
Coming from a
Shiny
Stone.
The stone is
Always
There.
It’s a
Part
Of me now.
Sometimes,
It makes
Lots
Of bubbles.
And the
Bubbles
Fill my stomach,
And make it
Hurt.
Sometimes,
The bubbles come up my
Throat,
And choke me.
And sometimes,
The bubbles come
Out my
Eyes,
Ears,
Mouth.
And I can’t
Breathe,
Speak,
Or
Listen.
When the bubbles fade,
I am left
Shivering,
Cold,
And covered in
Tears.
I get up.
I leave the room.
I wipe my face.
I return.
The bubbles
Are
Back.
© Jj H., Abq, New Mexico
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Bubbles represents how anxiety feels. In this poem, the anxiety spilled over into a panic attack.