Disabled
By Reese Mitchell
It’s the shape of able-bodied arrogance as a scrape on the knee
And the concrete decides to laugh at you
It’s the feigned friendship of high-ponytailed girls
Who want to deem themselves saints
Then don’t bother to pick out the rubble from your open palms
It’s the thin-lipped compliments of adults who call you inspirational
It’s the lack of railings on brick steps, every stride of your brother asking “Can’t you walk
faster?”
It’s the blanketed familiarity of pain
The cyclical sickness of always being three steps behind your friends
It’s the limbless ache of hot water against stiff legs
And your bruises begin to become bloodied
It’s the struggle of trying to find a soft smile
In a world of calloused hearts
An acceptance so unwavering they choose to utter the words “It doesn’t bother me”
It’s the learned rhythm of avoiding the R slur
It’s surprised looks on their faces when they see
That you can “Really write”
It’s the everyday act of lifting yourself from concrete
And laughing in the face of
Able-bodied arrogance