the tap dancers in my skull
swing to different tunes
each of them grabbing a different piece
and yanking, pulling, breaking
making my head feel ready to explode.
the pins and needles I used to feel
in my kneecaps
has now become a battalion
of trauma-ridden soldiers
shooting small brown kids
and feeling something
in the empty shell of what once was.
the hammering in my spine
is now a fleet of construction workers
and heavy machinery
operated by 400-pound muscled men.
My body has gone
from somewhat sturdy
to a fragile work of glass-blown bubbles
ready to burst.
I use a wheelchair
to prevent my inevitable dizziness
and knee buckles
that send me toppling to the floor.
I take managed medication
for a cacophony of mental health issues
not to mention
the obvious, glaring physical ones
but according to the
American healthcare system
I'm "just not disabled enough"
and I must find a job
even though
nobody will hire me.