OH NO!
Nancy M. Sanchez
I CANNOT BREATHE.
THE HAND OF STRESS HAS GOTTEN TO ME.
I AM TOO SMALL,
IT IS TOO LARGE,
THIS IS NOT FAIR,
WHERE IS THE JUDGE?
I DEMAND
SOME BETTER TREATMENT.
IS ANYONE LISTENING?
WHERE ARE THE ARMS OF RELIEF?
I'M JUST SO STRESSED,
I CANNOT THINK.
AND THEN THERE'S THAT WHOLE BREATHING THING.
I STILL CANNOT,
CAN BARELY BREATHE.
I WISH THAT DAMNED HAND WOULD LEAVE ME,
TOSS ME MY KEY,
AND TELL ME,
"SEE YOU LATER, JACK."
WON'T ANYBODY CUT ME
SOME SLACK?
ALL I EVER FEEL LIKE WEARING
IS BLACK,
AND I REALLY WISH I COULD GET MY PERSONALITY BACK.
ALL I EVER THINK OF ANYMORE IS WHAT
I LACK.
AND FROM NOT BREATHING, MY LUNGS JUST
HACK.
OR MAYBE THAT'S JUST FROM THE SMOKING.
YES, THAT'S PROBABLY WHY I'M
CHOKING.
ARMS OF RELIEF!
HERE I AM!
YOUR BIGGEST FAN!
DON'T YOU REMEMBER ALL THOSE LETTERS,
SIGNED,
"LOVE, FROM YOUR MOST ENTHUSIASTIC WORSHIPPER?"
COULD YOU PLEASE BE MY CALGON,
AND "TAKE ME AWAY?"
I WILL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT,
I PROMISE TO OBEY.
ALL I WANT IS TO BREATHE EASY.
MAYBE IT'S ALL JUST ME
BEING LAZY
OR PERHAPS I'VE BECOME
THE EPITOME OF CRAZY.
