it often feels as if the world doesn't want me here,
that life shouldn't have been granted to my pale flesh.

it makes sense when i think about it.
i’ve been sickly since birth, contracting almost every common illness under the sun,
and if it wasn’t for modern medicine i would, without a doubt, be dead by now.

i’d be one of the millions of children who died before their first birthday,
one of the children who have no gravestone, no legacy,
one of the “unlucky ones.”

perhaps i should feel lucky that humanity learned to intercept fate,
entertaining the thought that i might live a full, productive life
that’s full of growth and emotion

but as i age and fail to reach the emotional milestones my peers do,
it feels as if i’m not supposed to exist. that my time should have ended long ago,
and that my body is only an echo of my fate.