And I’m breathing in,
And there’s a tight, painful knot at the centre of my chest –
My solar plexus feels like some vengeful imp is stacking stones on it,
Building a horizontal tower made of deadlines and doubts and stress.
I seem to have a lot of those.
I try to open my lungs, loosen my pose, and straighten my back, shoulders back
to the ‘at rest’ post. My tower wobbles as the air comes rushing in
Expanding, stretching my stomach until I feel it rise to the back of my throat –
And now I’m exhaling, I’m doing as I’m told,
I’m sorting out priorities and drawing schedules on all of my walls,
I’m trying so hard to topple over my tower. Of worries,
I need no encouragement to get rid of.