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Broken Lungs
September 2, 2014
They fill in with air
But every breath is stressed with pain
My ribs being the serrated knives
Scratching back and forth against every drawl of air
The crazies in their white coats believe me fine
So, does this mean it’s all in my head?
Is the pain over every burning take of air a lie?
Is my mind faking what I think I feel?
My lungs must be broken
If they’re doing this to me
I don’t know what’s wrong with me
And the doctors?
They don’t even try…
© Debora F., South River, NJ
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I have a breathing problem with my lungs with no explanation. I've been to the doctors many times about this, with a same answer of them believing that I'm fine. So, yeah, that's what this poem's about.