The doctors say it's broken
and they can't operate.
My eyes grow wide
is it fatal?
The surgeon won't look me in the eye
and it takes her too long to speak.
There are too many pieces, she says;
and they're way too small
to make it whole again.
You can still live
unless you want us to remove it.
My eyes flicker
like a dying lantern
with the memories of my condition.
Do you not know
how loudly I scream
every waking day
for this pain I feel?
So go ahead and take it
at least I won't hurt anymore.
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Comments about this poem (Heart Surgery by Ebone' Ingram )
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