Fishbone Or Not

Why does it feel like there's a fishbone stuck in my throat. A large one at that, pointy but girthy No banana, rice, apple, idli, peanut butter mash could dislodge this one It's almost funny, If it didn't hurt so much. It's a part of me now, a permanent organ How my words die out. And how I almost choke and cough at inopportune times And endure the pitiful glances thrown my way, When I quit a sentence halfway through. I avert my sorry eyes, As my fishbone stings. My. Wait, when did the fishbone become mine? Baking soda, apple cider vinegar, belly breathing I've tried it all. I've read a dense medical journal Exclusively on fishbones So now I know a lot, On its prognosis, diagnosis, pathology, causes, effects and risks The section on remedies and cures exhausts me though. And my parents think I'm kidding When I have to leave dinner halfway through Because my fishbone just scraped against my throat pretty bad, And now I must go to my room and breathe. “What a dramatic plea for attention” “Well, don't give her the attention then” So the fishbone stays, I'm learning to speak in spite of it. And no matter if it doesn't corrode and melt, Or if truckloads of pity come barging through my phone I'll pretend it isn't there. Because after all the shame, humour and fan-fare My fishbone is mine to bear.