" Doncha wish you were like, not disabled?"
New born I was perfect –
though aren’t we all in our mother’s eyes?
Though there were signs in childhood,
nights were I slung myself from bed.
In my pre-teens, named
Dolly Daydream because my attention wandered.
Seventeen, first tonic clonic,
but anyone can have a one of seizure, right?
Once the wall was breached
by my brains own projectiles.
Seizures like sorrows did not
come as single spies.
Left behind, labelled disabled
a sixth form dropout.
Eighteen, my personal best
206 seizures in a fortnight.
Regrets? Don’t get me wrong,
I think, maybe life is easier –
Though it’s trite to say
“My dis/ability is my superpower”.
It has it’s gifts, it’s insights.
I can advocate, like a devil.
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