*This piece is included in Leta’s poetry collection, the fruits of her bittersweet sadness, left to rot

ACT I
jugging normal expectancies while
navigating the inescapable, revolving
demands of dysautonomia. every day
is a performance. a façade, masking
my crumbling body.


ACT II
my failing immune system chokes
my quality of life with splotchy,
sweaty palms. a firm, controlling
grip that i lack. i cannot even grip
a pen, and i am expected to get a
grasp on my life?


ACT III
the staircase is a battle; every fucking
day is a war for survival. my greatest
opponent is myself. feverish chills,
my veins are ice, but my head is
somehow burning with an incurable
fire. blood pools in my feet, disanchoring
my balance and taunting the functionality
of my loose limbs.

ACT IV
there is no rest for the wicked,
no rest for this disease. my bed is no
longer a sanctuary of peace, but
midnight near-heart attacks where
the cage of my lungs can no longer
control my pulse. throat closes from the
previous choke, a cruel withholding
of breath and unending ache.


ENCORE
each member of my body chant
more, more, more until i drown
in my own diagnosis and cannot
crawl out from the depths of this
disease.

leta iris (she/they) is a bisexual, two-spirited midwestern poet studying english, with a concentration in creative nonfiction and a minor in creative writing. she is the author of two poetry collections, when summer fades to fall and the fruits of her bittersweet sadness, left to rot. her piece, “animals,” was previously featured in the Experiences of Femininity exhibit at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. she enjoys caffeine, thrifting trinkets, and collecting purses.

Instagram: @tangledflxwers