you don't look disabled, you aren't really disabled  

i thought about lining
up all my evidence. i thought about
explaining how i learned
to use a cane. how my lungs turn
into hindenbergs. about how
i count the stars backwards. about how
i couldn't read for so long 
but still loved stories. a list of slurs
used against me. 
instead i want to tell you
a story about the empire. this machine
seeks to diminish anything 
which it cannot control. if i am not disabled
then maybe you can imagine that
you never will be either. if i am
not disabled then maybe you are
more comfortable with 
the sunsets of your body.
if i am not disabled then maybe it is
easier for you to believe the world
is just. do you believe the world is just?
maybe you prefer to believe
i am not disabled so that you can
rid yourself of any blame. how does it feel? 
i can tell you do not pick enough berries. i can tell 
you have never talked in the dark
with someone who moves
through the world like you. how does it feel to author
a version of the universe in which you are alone?
in the end i am not worried about
whether or not you think i'm disabled. 
my beloveds teach me who i am & who
i am not. i considered spending a hope
on you. hoping that maybe one day 
you are loved in a way that heals you.
i do not hope for that though. you can have
your own hopes to spend in your
tunnel of knives. i live amoung the dandelions.
i wear my knee braces when i need to.
tend to my hives & find a way 
to light candles in the eyes of 
this empire's ugly skull.