Is it wrong that for a minute
I wondered what it’d be like
to have a real problem
like cancer or being discriminated against.
I thought of all the poems I’d be inspired
to write
all the pain I’d have to share
all the words that would come
pouring out of my heart
as easily as the Niagara River
flowed over into the falls.
But how wonderful is it
for the truly afflicted
to have all these words at the ready
at any time
as the pain and experiences
never dissolve into nothingness
but either remain or grow larger
and more weighty on their souls?
Wouldn’t they be wishing for lightness
and a day where none of it existed
in exchange for all those words?