Snotsucker

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There is no privacy in my world, no understanding. You can certainly imagine the cruelty of my life if you saw it through my eyes. First, I have no rights. I am given what I can use or work with, but I never get praise for being truly creative with those objects. I strongly believe some objects are better at tasting than others. Whenever I reach for something new or attempt at a new goal, someone pulls me away from my new discovery. My allowances are very few indeed. I am on a strict schedule, theirs not mine. To complete my misery these days I am sick. I smile often and try to push through the discomfort, yet I am still not free. Liquids seem to lunge at me, tissues and napkins fly in formation to attack me. They pull on my nose which already aches. They squeeze on it every time I sneeze. I fight with all my might their advances, I protect the substances that fall from my body. My arms are ready for hit or a slap to those that invade my precious space. However, I am not even mentioning the worst of my tale. A hideous bulbous tool seeks to avenge my freedom. It comes at me when I am at my weakest. They hold me down, my arms I cannot move, I shake my head side to side, but still I lose. The tool forces itself up my nostrils to suck the joyous life still remaining in me. My endless shame in a tool they call the “snotsucker.”

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