Audible

It started three weeks ago.

A small thing. Something I'd ignore.

But now everyone will know

when I cough. Everyone deplore.

I was on a video call today.

I felt it coming—that scratch in my throat.

I covered my mouth. Looked away.

And someone asked if I was alright. Noted.

Now every cough feels like a crime.

Like proof of something breaking.

Like I'm running out of time

to hide whatever is aching.

It won't go away.

Three weeks and it's worse.

Every single day

it's like my body's a curse.

I hold my breath when I feel it start.

I tense my whole body up.

I'm coming apart

and everyone can see it. Won't stop.

This is what it means to be

watched. To be visible.

To be the thing that nobody sees

but everyone notices. Horrible.

The cough is still here.

Still catching me off guard.

Still making it clear

that I'm failing. Still hard.