Pneumothorax and Pleural Effusion


Never forget that
the hurt you cause others will ultimately
be yours to carry.

If
you plant hurt, like seeds in people, light,
like pebbles, like insects burrowing under their skin,
feeding on their flesh,
then
know that these seeds grow into invisible sprouting fruits,
heavy with tears made of grief,
or air from silent screams, these fruits,
heavy as they ripen, and heavy as they fall:
and they will land in your arms, on your chest, slip,
ghost-like at first, into your dreams
– those soft crevices of your soul,
gather the dust there (unused places tend to
be musty, tend to be dusty),
grow heavy with memory, these fruits,
grow heavy again with tears and air that touched
the rawest throats, and they will slip inside,
between your ribs and lungs, and yes
this is the rule of three,
these fruits will land, yes, and make
their home inside your pleural cavity,
between the lungs and their thin
tissued layer,
there they will land,
these fruits made of air
and these fruits made of tears.

And as your lungs collapse,
it will feel like you cannot breathe.

Never forget that
as you sow, so shall you reap.

 

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This entry was posted in feminism, Mental Health, poetry, Thoughts on Life, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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