"The Thing I Carry"
By: Camryn Kellogg
There is no way to perfectly convey the sensation:
The drowning, burning, stinging inflammation.
A flurry of emotion, panic, and stress
Leaving behind a devastating, physical mess.
This beast comes and goes as often as it pleases
Forcing its victim to cry out, to beg for Jesus.
As it strikes I feel my life being sucked away
A flood of panic, my entire world turns grey.
The fear as my sight seems to go dark
The hollow empty feeling as my lungs begin to starve.
My stomach drops, but I must stay strong and fight through
My lifeline will work, I pray to God that this is true.
This lifeline is small, plain, deceptively simple.
As life-giving as God, yet as wretched as a pimple.
This one small object holds a vast amount of power
Determining whether I die or survive, whither or flower.
This thing is an inhaler, something I must always bear
A refuge, a power, more divine than a prayer.
For in my worst times it answers my plea
Opening my lungs, setting me free.
Then I’m back normal, trying to forget the attack occurred
But it’s always there lurking, enough to drive a man absurd.
Serving as a reminder to appreciate life’s little things,
It’s the cross I bear. It’s what clips my wings.
By: Camryn Kellogg
