My Disease
My disease is spreading.
Mothers pull away their children.
People look at me and sneer,
as if they know everything about me.
And everything is wrong.
They say I’m cursed,
that I’ll burn for eternity.
They think their words will cure me.
They only drive the disease further,
encourages it to spread.
They think their hate will stop me.
They don’t know a thing.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.