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A/N: This is better served as a performance piece, as it is the first Slam poem I ever wrote. So I will indicate actions in my performance with *asterisks*
Give me my inhaler in my asthma attack. Set me free, jailer I want my breath back. Air can't come in, my lungs won't let it. Time is wearing thin, in this deep, dark pit.
There’s nothing quite like the smellOf the gym’s weight room at 12:10 on a Tuesday night,Sweat rolling off in torrential waves as worrieswander away into the air vents.
A silent scream escapes blue lips I writhe and shake in pain, gasping The breath does not come Fire burns in my lungs As the blank ceiling turns colored It begins to spin
I'm running around and my head starts to spin, My chest starts to feel like it's closing at its seams
Short of breath short of life-asthma My lungs are enslaved laborers Constantly working over time with no reinbursment Too cold too hot asthma you're a petty one
I'll always remember the team I was on, they helped me become me, they helped me a ton. I had asthma, hell, I still do, it doesn't mean I sucked; I made it well through.
Growing up, surrounded by relatives in the medical field
STUPID ASTHMA I HATE YOU WHY WAS I BORN WITH YOU ? HOW COME YOU CAUSE ME TO LOSE MY BREATH AND TIRE ME OUT MORE OFTEN THAN OTHERS . CAN YOU BACK OFF WHEN I RUN TRACK YOU'RE CAUSING ME TO STALL
Feeling tight againNot the cool type that I wishBut claustrophobic
My lungs don't work well, but my brain does, And with my brain I dream and dream! In these dreams I can see my future. However, my brain does not sing. I sang for you - or was it for a grade?
I dreamt I was drowning in the raging sea Cold iron was harshly pulling me Down to the depths as I choked on fire And as my flailing arms dared tire I awoke in the real world conscious of pain
Poetry to me is like the air I breathe. It lives in everything I see because it's everything I believe. When I had no one poetry had me.
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