You left before,

You even had a chance at life.

The only scar you had,

Was above your left eyebrow,

And the only love,

You had ever known,

Was family love.

You had never ridden,

On a roller coaster,

Eaten a mango,

Or figured out to color,

Inside the lines.


Is such a horrible age,

To leave the world,

Because you almost had chance,

To do it all.

After the first,

Doctor’s appointment,

You only smiled,

And said,

“It’s okay Izzy, I’ll get better.”

You didn’t though,

And the name of your cancer,

Seemed to worm its way,

Through the house,

And into every adult’s mouth.

I remember the bright smile,

You gave me,

When your speech was slurring,

As you said,

As clearly as you could,

“It’s okay, Izzy can talk for me.”

You laid in bed,

After you started,

Having difficulty walking,

And you always mumbled,

When you seemed too weak to talk,

“Izzy. Uno?”


You left the world at six,

And if you had been able to stay,

It would have been,

A better place.

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