By Diana Manzanes
Published 3:32 PM EST, Tues April 6, 2021
This troublesome condition stabs my chest
As I am left to partake in no more
Than minimal gasps of air, that are so pressed
They savagely leave me on the floor.
Oh how I adore the youths that run free
With no knives jutted at their lungs.
Utter glee I have for the chance to flee
And be careless like those that are among.
But before then, I must suffer this wait,
For I am surrounded by private eyes.
A cost I must bear to open this gate
That has hindered me from getting the prize.
So long my troublesome lungs I dearly
Hope, A path I see so very clearly.
Diana Manzanes, Youth Medical Journal 2021