deepundergroundpoetry.com
PCOS
She lives inside my body like an unwanted house guest ; unwelcome by all.
She strikes at the most important moments and leaves me with nothing but anger and pain.
She stays inside my lungs like a cancer that refuses to be killed, she is part of me.
I wake up sometimes mad at the world and the sky,
Mad at anything and everyone who tells me that I’ll be alright.
Because I am not alright, I am not fine.
I wake up and yell at god, asking why me.
There is no cure for what I have, and I may never have children because of it,
And I think that’s what hurts me the most, that I will never be a mom to children of my own.
Everyday is a constant struggle between my bed and my depression,
And I am the poor punching bag.
I like to talk to god most days, thinking maybe he will cure me.
But he never does.
She strikes at the most important moments and leaves me with nothing but anger and pain.
She stays inside my lungs like a cancer that refuses to be killed, she is part of me.
I wake up sometimes mad at the world and the sky,
Mad at anything and everyone who tells me that I’ll be alright.
Because I am not alright, I am not fine.
I wake up and yell at god, asking why me.
There is no cure for what I have, and I may never have children because of it,
And I think that’s what hurts me the most, that I will never be a mom to children of my own.
Everyday is a constant struggle between my bed and my depression,
And I am the poor punching bag.
I like to talk to god most days, thinking maybe he will cure me.
But he never does.
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