The only one I shall ever have
Breaking apart with every new age
I love my body and what I look like
My crooked nose, my big teeth
My bad posture, my nice legs
I don’t remember feeling insecure
I was too busy crying from dread
Wondering why my lungs couldn’t work
Why I couldn’t breathe if it rained
Or if I lied down at night to sleep
I will die in my sleep this time for sure
Why my chest always hurts
Why my sinuses always leak
Down my throat and making me choke
Why my skin always itches and stinks
Comorbidities
Because why the hell not
I never hated the outside of my body
I hated the inside, unfit for the world,
Always making everything harder
Always making me miss
Always making me fear
Always making me wait
In waiting rooms for doctors
“Try exercising more and avoid allergens”
Oh, she keeps getting pneumonia, over and over?
Keep shovelling antibiotics into that 9 year old
It will pass eventually
Yeah
Thanks a lot
I hope you rot in hell
I hope you use your inhaler five times
Yet still can’t breathe past midnight on a school night
I hope you have nightmares as you try to rest
The only time I ever want to be in a hospital again
Is when I give birth or I’m dead.
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A. R. Tivadar is a hobby writer from Romania and a graduate of the University of Oradea. She has been published in underscore_magazine, the Aurum Journal, Motus Audax Press, Firework Stories, miniMAG, The Expressionist, Pink Heart Mag, Cathartic Lit Magazine, Academy of the Heart and Mind & Alien Buddha Press.
instagram: @a.r.tivadar | linktree: /ARTivadar | bluesky: @artivadar.bsky.| social twitter: @artivadar