Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019
My backpack straps dig into my shoulders:
they burn with the weight.
Iā€™m sick to my stomach,
and my throat still catches on thin air.
I just want things to ease up
or give me a break.

Mom comes with ginger ale;
we sit together in the car
and consider whether or not to
visit the doctor.
Riley OHalloran
Written by
Riley OHalloran  19/F/Neptune's domain
(19/F/Neptune's domain)   
210
   anna
Please log in to view and add comments on poems