The invisible cloak of my disability wrapped around me,
they see my pale freckled surface consuming my physique.
I feel the tinge of burning crawling under my skin,
my body’s numb to temperature,
the sharp scratch is dull.
My petite frame disguises the shooting pangs rushing through my nerves.
They don’t see the snippets of my day lying stiff,
trying to relieve the concrete feeling of my spinal fluid weighing me down.
My swimming pool eyes filled with shyness,
or at least they think.
The anxiety of wanting to fit in and be ‘normal’.
If they can do it, I can too.
My dimples appear as I crack a smile to fool my peers.
I beg the pregabalin to take the edge off so I can pretend I’m the same as you,
but I can’t shed the disability.
The cloak grows heavier.
Chestnut curly hair falls over my scar,
the raw line of memories trail around after me.
I am confined to it but my curves disguise it.
It’s this, or paralysis.