Guest Poem: More Than My Disability by Luna Fera

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Look up. Smile. Wave.

For God’s sake,
Don’t let them see.
“Is It Fun Being In A Wheelchair”

Pause.

Cock head and stare. Smile with teeth. Ignore the spear plunging in heart.

What do you want me to say, I wonder?

That I ride off into the sunset
preforming wheelies and
rolling down hills and
dancing under the teardrops peppering the nightsky?

Yea, fun.

it is so cool to be able to skip endless lines at airports and carnivals
it is so cool to go through cold hallways and have waves of people part for you like the Red Sea
it is so cool to feel the wind snap against pink cheeks and cracked lips, barreling down ramps
without a care, an exclamation of joy echoing into the Great Unknown

But what happens when that ends? Can you guess?

Am I still expected to have fun when inaccessibility is the taunting beast
constantly lounging behind my shoulder, ready to pounce
with the gaping maw, forboding jaws, poison-dipped fangs, and fire laced tongue
whose breath burns my neck, singeing my hair

i look on at shrinking doors, towering staircases, broken elevators, bleeding hearts

Am I still expected to have fun when pity is a pill I must swallow daily
when creeping eyes gawk and render me a spectacle, a fascinating exhibit
when whispers and violations are forever rocking me to sleep
when iron-clad comments pummel me at lightning speed

All become Silence. Smile. Shake head. Turn.

Resume.
“Are You Sick”

Pause.

Cock head and stare. Smile with teeth. Ignore the spear plunging in heart.

Is that what you make of me, I wonder?

When did I become something that reeks of disease and pain? Can you explain please?
Since when did metal rims and a metallic extention of a body
become associated with someone bedridden, shackled, forsaken

You scrutinize me with those eyes
force me into a tight box, marking my community as The Disables
but it escapes me how a different body ultimatelty separates me from youa person whose soul is blooming with life, aching to show the world their colors

blood runs red and i breathe. can i ask you a question. can you truly see me.

Is it impolite to reject demeaning words fabricated in innocence
offensive, is it, to send back the get well soon cards crammed in my mailbox
forgive me, but fatigue plagues my ears and my lips are drained of responses

All become Silence. Smile. Shake head. Turn.

Resume.

“Let Me Push You”

Pause.

Cock head and stare. Smile with teeth. Ignore the spear plunging in heart.

What do you regard as acceptable, I wonder?

Has human decency become such a fragile line
that I must nail a sign reading Do Not Touch on my forehead
complete with black paint and spikes on handlebars

Legs have shriveled and bodies have melded with metal
wheels do not signal for unknown hands to grab them
breaching the balance of security, safety and control
transgressions of the sort make for strange, disturbing bedfellows

ice shoots up arms and i gasp. nails scratch and brakes squeal.

struggles are mine own, and no help was asked
remove the unknown hands and let me free
my definition of freedom breathes into my castors and spokes
i’ll ask again, should i be obliged to request that my freedom be respected?

All become Silence. Smile. Shake head. Turn.

Resume. Stop.

Inhale. Exhale.

School halls and stacks of homework are imposing enough.

Remember my words now. I am not my disability.

I am human.
I am human.
I am human.

I watch souls curl up and cover their head beneath this exhausting weight
My Loves, believe me I got you
We pull each other up and learn and teach

We are human.

Look up. Smile. Wave

Luna Fera is an intern for SPINALpedia and a paraplegic. Follow Luna at lunawolfe02 on Instagram

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