Every Sneeze Is a Chance to Rewrite Who You Are

You know, I’ve changed a lot in my life—how I dress, how I express, even how I love. But one thing stayed the same forever: my sneeze. And I realized… it didn’t feel like me. So I changed it. This poem is my ode to the sneeze—and to the truth that if even your sneeze can change, maybe everything can.

Every sneeze reveals who you really are.

Some sneezes fall abruptly downward—
sharp punctuation marks,
souls who live life as constant critics,
skeptical of joy’s vibe.
Their sneezes feel oddly personal—
low-key cringe.

Others sneeze softly, gently—
impossibly delicate,
adorable, achingly tender,
three sweet notes, lightly spaced:
“achoo… achoo… achoo…”
Beautiful women sneeze like this,
softly charming the room—
how lovely it must be
to release breath so sweetly.

Then there’s the sneeze-train—
endless, rapid-fire bursts,
unstoppable, extra as hell:
“Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”
After a few, you stop blessing them.
What’s happening inside—
joy or chaos?
Loss of self-control,
or something hidden,
desperate to escape?

And the expectant sneeze—
breath rising dramatically,
anticipation cresting,
then—nothing.
A disappointed near-climax,
awkward vulnerability—
a private moment
never quite arriving.

Someone told me recently:
Sneezing resets your nervous system—
an energetic exorcism,
something invisible leaving your body,
a tiny demon expelled,
a release of something stale.
Could it be true? Is “bless you”
ancient wisdom after all?

Then something struck me deeply—
my sneeze wasn’t even mine.
Inherited unconsciously
from generations facing downward,
it never matched who I’d become.

Sneezing was quietly teaching me
a profound truth all along:
If even your sneeze can change,
then maybe everything can change.
Every unconscious habit,
every inherited limitation—
rewritable.

Now, my sneeze is intentional—
musical, sustained
with conscious grace,
each sneeze a signature
of who I choose to be:
“aaah-chooooo…”

Bless you—
every sneeze
is a chance
to rewrite who you are.