Teacher, condemn me,

For I am not an athelete.

Classmates, bully me,

For I am not petite.

Break me down for what I cannot control.

Tear me apart for this illness that began at eleven years old.

Here we go another test.

My body shakes,

And my mind goes to rest.

I must leave to prick my finger again.

A low blood sugar, leading to my descend.

Maybe  I am tired,

But I do not know why.

Nauseau overcomes me,

And I let out a sigh.

Take my insulin,

For my meter reads high.

Now, I end these memories of which I dwell.

There are more days in which I am feeling well.

I laugh and talk with others my age.

Luckily, they see past the difference in me.