Dear immune system,

it seems you’ve got a vendetta against me,
which I’m forced to take personally.

Why did you offer free lodging to that vile germ?

I water you (more than our sorry, dying garden)
I give you antioxidants like it’s my job,
and at lunch? I treat you to fruit.
I wait on you, hand and foot, like a queen,
(I wash those too, don’t want to get sick)

Apparently, that’s to no avail.

All day, you’ve been lazy.
Your (evidently useless) white blood cells
cower and can’t figure out
how to get rid of the menacing virus
that slithers into crevices of my bloodstream

Now, I wouldn’t be angry,
if I coughed a few times, maybe a sneeze,
but you, arrogant imbecile, won’t retreat.
your antibodies fill my throat, scratching the walls.
Even swallowing becomes undesirable.
All of your minions pile up in my nose,
and spray debris everywhere

If that wasn’t enough, you don’t let me taste -
      a steaming forkful of noodles,
           a rich morsel of blueberry pancakes,
               or a refreshing bite of cool watermelon.

My endless collections of t(issues),
are like soccer moms, screaming
at you to try harder to reach your goal,
which, apparently, is repurposing my nose
as a foghorn.

I’ve tried cups of tea to calm you,
       glasses of water to soothe you,
        and steaming tomato soup to appease you.
Instead of laying low,
      you grow an extra head every time I cut one off.

In fact, you’ve got me writing poetry about you.
Don’t mistake this as an ode,


   or a Shakespearean sonnet,


     This, my lovely friend, is a hate poem.


    Please, let me breathe.