The Sickly One

When I was born, I did not do well
I was put in an incubator
My life hung in the balance
My health was an instigator

I caught colds at the drop of a hat
I was too sick to go out and play
I caught every illness that went around
My family’s sickly one, I became

For years this sad trend continued
In my family, I was the sickie
This changed somewhat when
my brother got diabetes

Now he was the sickly one
We must all pussyfoot around
I was confused and resentful
“Quit stealing my rep, you clown!”

Well, no, I didn’t really say that
But that’s what I felt like, you bet
Brother-dear rejected the title
Because sickies don’t get respect

Time and tide do not wait
Later on, my parents became in turn
the sickie of this family
The brand it doth burn.

 

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About Mary Borchard

Fabulous art available.
This entry was posted in Health and wellness, plog-poetry blog, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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