Thinks in poetry, lives in prose
Dreams in colors she cannot understand
The music of her words is lost
In the starts and stops of
Will they hear the song they asked for?
The rhythm of her movements, of her hands conducting the world before her
Hindered by chains of expectations stretching
As far back as this is what the Bible says
As far back as you look like a crazy person
As far back as babies should not cry this much
As far back as she will be blind
Now, she dances, shaking the ground, the chains, the cage
Sings at the top of her voice
I am here, listen to me
Hands shaping and words naming all the things
She loves about herself
Her world is pictures of what other people see, interactions others interpret
But the music of it, the cadence of rattling chains
The rhythm of her fumbling speech and hands that shape
These are hers and hers alone
As far back as bless this child
As far back as I love you
As far back as kindred spirit
As far back as not broken
As far back as
I am blind. I am autistic. I am disabled. I am proud.
I will make you uncomfortable
That is my normal — you will look on it and see
The poetry that colors my world
The prose I write into yours
The dreams I will never stop dreaming
As long as I am here
As long as the chains I will weave into armor
As long as they won’t understand
As long as I must fight
I will

One thought on “Chains

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