Poetry

All that you see

My fingers do not work like yours,

but still I seem to type,

my hair falls out in clumps now

and my dark roots have all turned light.

 

It doesn’t bother me

I’ll wear it back, my friend,

or if that makes you uncomfortable

pretend it’s a new fashion trend.

 

This is me, this is how I am

but the who that shines inside

cannot be defined by a disability,

even against your twisted pride.

 

Come now, don’t be afraid

of a ‘cripple’ who talks back

and forces away all your expectations

to start you on a new track.

 

Oops, did I say something wrong?

Throw a spanner in the works?

Did I wipe away society’s stereotypes?

I’ll consider that a perk.

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