Invisible means unable to be seen
Is it really invisible,
When I’m on the ground,
Stiff and jerking,
With my head banging on the cold tiles?
Is it really invisible,
When my phone screen is shattered,
From all the times I’ve lost control of my body,
And dropped it,
Just like everything else,
Again and again and again?
(If I can even have a baby after all of these invisible years, will I drop them too?)
Is it really invisible,
When my body tremors and jerks,
As I limp everywhere I go?
Is it really invisible,
When I have to swallow 24 pills throughout a day,
Having to take some of those in public,
In front of prying and mostly judging eyes?
(I see them all, even the ones wondering if what I’m taking is worth stealing, it scares me because it wasn’t invisible the day somebody decided they were worth it)
Is it really invisible,
When the only time my friends in another city can see me,
Is when I’ve had to travel down for appointment after appointment,
Treatment after treatment?
I know I am not my disability,
I am me,
But sometimes my disability makes me want to feel invisible,
And I know I am not invisible,
Because people can see me,
Just like they can see my disability,
Separate from me, a visible entity.
Purple Adventures 