Advocacy

The final stage, it lies forgotten,
Drowned out in a world made of pink.
Breast cancer is cured, they say,
And it applies to even us, they think.

This is not true, the fight and hope,
We fight among the best.
But the cancer has its foothold
Far beyond our breast.

It matters not the gender
Or the age of who is claimed.
Religion, race, creed, or country,
It takes us all the same.

We see a finer beauty left to live
And, too, we keenly feel
The loss of moments now denied-
A reality too real.

To honor our fallen brethren,
We must raise a hue and cry,
And bring awareness for the Fourth
Before our own time comes to die.

Metastatic cancer is oft ignored
In favor of those who survive.
We beg researchers to forget us not,
For we too are still alive.

The ones who found theirs early,
Metastasis strikes even they.
Thirty percent cannot run nor hide,
And struggle to keep it at bay.

Ten percent more are metastatic
From the time they're initially seen.
For them, the hope of cancer-free
Has died before they can dream.

Of all the funding raised in the pink
A mere two percent goes toward mets.
The rest goes to CEOs and overheads,
And programs for early detect.

Thirty percent for the thirty
Is all that we ask, nothing more.
It's time to acknowledge metastatic disease
And to stop ignoring Stage IV.