I’m Sorry

I walk into my doctor’s office
For my annual blood tests
For my HIV.
I suddenly feel the room closing in on me,
The nurses began to stare and gather things,
As I head for the front desk, the receptionist puts glove on
To hand me some papers I need to fill out.
When the doctor calls my name,
I walk into his office scared of what will happen today.
I sit on my chair and stretch out my arm ready for my
Contaminated blood to be taken.
The doctor ties the rubber so tightly around my arm
I can feel my pulse in my bicep.
So I ask him to loosen it up.
To which he answered,
“if you weren’t a fag, you wouldn’t need to be here”
To which I wanted to say,
It wasn’t my fault,
I didn’t ask for this to happen to me
It has nothing to do with being gay,
But instead all I say is I’m sorry.
I lie to him as that man lied to me
When he said he was clean.
He stabs the needle so profusely into
My arm without even warning,
And says, “I hope this teaches you a lesson faggot.”

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