Ever
level-headed,
he asks me
why
I'm doing this
when I know
where my
limits are.

I say
I hate
my body
and that it
thinks it can
limit me.
I want
to go to space.
I want
to use chalk
and spray paint
without
worrying.
I want
to go outside
in the winter
without coughing.
I want
my life back!

I pick up
the nearest
thing and
throw it,
a coughing spell,
as if
summoned,
racking my body.
A pen.
Mom
looks like
she's about
to break.

"I try
so hard
to protect you-"

"I don't need
protection!
I'm almost
eighteen,
Mom!"

A fire
sparks in
her eyes.
"Let me
speak."

I am silenced.
Something
that radiates
off her
tells me
not to interrupt.

"I spend
so much time
trying to
keep you safe.
Trying to
take care
of you.
I just...
need you
to do
your part."

Part of me
is sorry.
But part
of me
wants to
ignore her
and keep
pushing,
running,
until my body
realizes
it can't stop me.