My breath is pushed back into my mouth,
into my lungs as I try to move.
Try to skip, try to run. I try to race and
you chase me, everywhere I go.
Every morning is shared with you.
I reach for my purple diskus of Advair,
taking a long and deep breath in. The white powder
races to my lungs like an olympic runner
across the finish line.
And for those ten seconds I'm holding my breath,
and the dizziness knocks me off my feet.
I sit recalling the times
you, Asthma, almost got me killed.
Comments
I can really...
sympathize with this one. I'm anxious to see how you treat the rest of it. I have emphysema and have to take a few minutes of bending over each morning in order to get all the crap sliding out of my lungs so that I don't cough out my Advair and Spiriva and it is wasted. Stuff is expensive too! I miss being able to run and work and play, but on reflection; am glad that I still don't need oxygen tank. You have a good start here. Your language is good and the pattern of it is smooth, almost like the voice of a documentary. I'm waiting to see how Asthma almost got you killed! I have some stories of my own on that score, but will wait for another time to relate them. Good work so far, ~ Geezer.
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rooting for you
not much we can say about this revealing poem. This affliction chasing you everywhere, and it must be painful and terrifying in an attack.
Keep using and adding metaphor! it helps create an image outside the universe of the poem while connecting to it.
thanks
It's very terrifying not being able to fully rely on one of the main things that helps give you life. Asthma is no joke.