I was never able to breathe easy,
the tension in my lungs coiling up and squeezing
tightly, never missing a chance to cut the
sweet air off with a sickening pressure.
And when I'm running, my arms are pinned
like puppets to my sides, mechanically moving
and not ever reaching too far out because
I live in fear of burning out too quickly.
When you're inhaling cigarette smoke and
your lungs do not function as lungs, but
rather a cage, that only functions to stop
you from breathing easy,
You do everything you can to not burn out.
Because we are not stars, whose shining
moment is exploding in a great big ball
of light and gas, tossing ourselves across
Space and time. No, we are the people who
have to unpin our arms, and open the rusted-
shut doors of our lungs in hopes to go faster,
to burn brighter in the moment.
I have never felt so alive as I do when
the air is ripped from my feeble chest and
wind caresses my hair, drawing forth laughter
that I didn't know I was able to make.
Because life is so much different when your
lungs do not act as lungs, but rather a large
pressure in your chest, with a battle cry that
takes the shape of a whisper, wheezing out,