I saw things that weren’t there before: mirages of pain I was once blind to. But now I look upon the overweight girl, etched in scars that ladder down her pleading arms,
and the woman, tall and beautiful, who smiles with life, but who's arm is a hidden stump, twitching with longing for fingers long-gone,
and I flinch from my seat at the side of the road at eye-contact with the girl who crosses without a glance, and I see the tattoo of a rose, covering the healed gashes on her wrists.
And I wonder, why I never saw this pain before I had to move with the help of these wheels, And strength of my fists.