The Cure

Tue, 12/06/2016 - 22:27 -- omgjars

The year I was diagnosed was 2000.My mom, diagnosed in '59; my dad in '62; and my best friend in '99.No one was born immune.We lived to die cured.As children, we would hear stories from those still damp from their recovery.We would dream about how great it would be to be slammed against a wall and finally receive our vaccine.By the time we turn about 14, is when the first batch of us go into treatment.Everyone is expected to get treatment as soon as possible, but not all of us can afford it.I know some people that didn't get aid till they were....How pathetic! This disease is invisible to any microscope.It cannot be scanned by any machine.The symptoms cannot be recognized by any doctor.The only way to know if the disease is gone is to ask your bed sheets. Once I am cured for good, I will be a god, just like everyone else.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741