Wheelchair

I once saw a girl in a pink wheelchair,

But I don’t think anyone else did,

Always looking away as if was a contagious impair.

 

She was trying to act normal,

And keeping really still,

Trying to control her arms and legs,

That always moved against her will.

 

And I wish I had enough courage,

To walk up to her and say,

“Don’t try to normal,

Just because you feel like running away.”

 

I’m sorry your legs don’t work like mine,

And I never appreciated it before,

But thanks to you,

I’ll never over look it anymore.

 

I’m sorry people see your condition,

Which is not at all of you,

But people never see that,

Because their point of view.

 

You can never run away and hide,

Like I can always do,

And when there are games to be played,

I wonder if anyone invites you.

 

It must be hard watching from the sidelines,

And watching actions seem so effortless,

And I don’t think people even realize,

The extend of their unkindness.

 

But as for me I now know,

I’ll never look at you differently,

Because I now understand,

How hard it must be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Imperfect Lungs

I saw her friends gathering homework,

From all the classes that she missed,

Saying softly when asked about her imperfect lungs,

“She’s on the transfer waiting list.”

 

But every knows how long it takes,

To get a perfect set of lungs before it’s too late,

And soon enough you start to despise the words,

“Just wait.”

 

So all she does is try to inhale oxygen,

That no one else seems to struggle to do,

As every day she wakes up and hooks to a tank,

To start Chemo anew.

 

Her friends stop by every day,

Wondering if one will be her last,

And if all the times they talk about her,

Will be forever be spoken in the past.

 

The school sends hearts and cards,

And her best friend brought balloons and teddy bear,

Everyone trying to show her,

How much she makes them care.

 

But as she grows pale and thin,

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting,

For a set of perfect lungs,

To be hers again.

 

You just wish that bile didn’t come up,

Instead of food,

And that she can somehow can gain weight,

And do anything but sit and brood.

 

She’s stuck in a bitter cycle,

Just like she’s stuck with imperfect lungs in her chest,

As every day she is prodded with needles,

And takes another new test.

 

The teddy bear she named “Hazel Grace,”

Hoping that somehow it will bring her good luck,

And not have doctors say bad news to her face.

 

But there’s always more waiting,

And people only see her condition,

Waiting to throw a celebration party,

When she goes into remission.

 

But it never happens,

And the teddy bear doesn’t bring good luck,

As the tears and screams as the news comes,

Get unstuck.

 

She never wanted to be,

Just a girl with cancer,

Waiting for a set perfect lungs,

To take the imperfect ones away from her.

 

But someone in the end,

That is how she ended up,

A girl who tried her best,

To fight the lack of oxygen in her chest.

 

There are tons more like her,

With a similar story,

Trying to fight the horrible monster,

Stuck in the “cancer” category.

You told me to turn away,

But I didn’t listen then,

And now I watch you fade every day.

 

Pale skin,

Chapped lips,

But still the boy I know within.

 

Clear IV fluid,

White tiles,

More bills and scans,

More medical files.

 

Foam cup,

Waiting for the PET scan,

Wondering if there is hope,

Holding your pale hand.

 

Trying to pretend,

That the thing eating away your bones,

Will not be your end.

 

Green and purple bruises,

Faded smile,

Where is my happy boy?

I haven’t seen him in a while.

 

Visiting hour ticking away,

Please make this not be,

Your last day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I see you in the stars tonight,

Cocky half grin and all,

But I still ask myself,

Which I would prefer:

Seeing you there every night,

Or having you by my side.

It’s been a long day,

Since I’ve seen you last,

And angel,

I hope you have wings,

To see me,

Even when I can’t,

See you.

She was born,

With birth defect,

In her left leg,

The caused the veins to be atrophied,

So not enough blood,

Flowed to it.

 

It made her leg shorter,

Then the one,

And skinnier.

 

She always felt self-conscious

About wearing jeans,

And she had to have them,

Specially made.

 

Oh but my darling,

Don’t you see,

How wonderful that makes you?

 

You can wear special shoes,

With a heel on your left one,

And rock styles,

No one else can!

 

You are exquisitely unique,

In a way,

That no else can imagine.

 

So darling,

Please understand,

That no one sees’s you as horribly imperfect,

Or badly flawed physically.

 

They see a strong girl,

Who was given something special,

Which made everything normal,

A little bit harder.

 

And darling,

The strongest people,

Are my favorite.