Messing Up My Life

If I meant it when the world said that disability
Was the essence of a state of mind and came
To regard me only as the source of its fertility
While never treating me “well” - or the same

It’s “good” that is the standard that you bear
When every day the tactic is to seem solid
Ice trickles capturing the essence of the cold,
Cold doubt about you whether you’re disabled


You’d like to think you’re normal, and always
Forever young, forever unchallenged by fate
You know the mirror has told you its only story
The end of your life being all it can truly relate

Hear voices, feel touches, see sights unseen
Gimp around the block while hurting too deep
Inside at the lack of a reality, hear completely:
“You people are all transients!” - Or one creep.

By: Karen Cole Peralta

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