The Breathing Problem

Breath can be existential to me. 

Holding air tightly in my lungs until they scream for release.

Releasing all things toxic within me on the carbon dioxide my body cannot process.

I cringe inwardly with the shame of letting these things fly into the atmosphere.

I stall the next part in the process of breathing. 

I punish myself for allowing my waste into the Earth. 

Moments pass by as I lean into the burning swelling beneath my chest cavity.

I revel in the begging of my lungs.

They are greedy in ways I wish I could be.

I relent with a choking gasp. 

They pull from the world to feed the life within the cells of me. 

They demand their space, their piece of existence, their freedom to be. 

They do not ask if they deserve to. 

They know it. 

I breathe. 

And repeat.