There are greater disasters than a disease

I am trying to think of a greater disaster
what could possibly be worst than
feeling my body rot with disease at 22
plenty of things, probably

and I know it is not much but
I have not been able to hold a bottle
my joint could not bear the weight of water
it reminds me of my shoulders;
the heavy of a diagnosis
left them sore and aching

It is alright, it does not hurt as much
when I swallow the pills;
My left thumb cannot stretch out,
it cannot touch the palm of my hand
I will never hold a scalpel in the future
and I am trying to be okay
with that choice pulled right from
under my feet

but I am blessed I am blessed
I am blessed

The red spots on my skin are just spots
are just bumps
are just my own immune system attacking
my own cells
It is not the end of the world
I put on the cream and pray
they don’t grow pray
I can see the brown of my skin pray
they become scars

I have never prayed for scars
this hard before

There are greater disasters
than watching my nails turn ugly
I know I know
I am blessed

here to serve some passive aggressive poems
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