I see how you are physically shocked when you see me.
You stop mid-walk, mid-sentence.
Oh my god.
Did you see her?
And you walk off.
You present me with platitudes that hang
Rusty rather than golden,
I know someone who…
That’s not your child being shy.
That’s your child frightened of my difference.
Hiding behind your legs, pointing, burying their face into you.
You tell me I’m angry for speaking out about discrimination and ableism and pity.
That my words make you scared you’re saying the wrong thing.
I’m siding with the angry crowd,
It’s best to just let things go, you say.
Not everything’s a battle.
There’s an organisation researching for a cure.
Meanwhile, the every day is forgotten.
The every day maintenance, every day resilience and every day battle-
Oh, but one day. Not now.
One day, they say, I won’t have to look like this.
I’m still proud.