"disabled" poems
Tender oversized hugs made of never ending love.
A broad smile bought belly laughs time and time again.
Aching cheeks from a dose of over indulged happiness.
Always larger than life.
Life and soul.
Our life and soul.
Deep set wrinkles from a lifetime of worry.
Never stopping to rest.
Fussing here pampering there.
Your selflessness and determintion to enjoy life knew no bounds.
You enjoyed the next generation of
the family as much as the last.
No longer disabled and heaven
rejoices at the return of an angel.
The last of your generation.
Reunited with long lost relatives.
We feel your love Nan
We always have.
We always will.
Till we meet again....
Good night
and
God Bless.
X
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
When I told my phsysical therapist that I'm a lesbian,
her answer was a question I did not ever expect;
"So... Are you a lesbian because you are disabled and you cannot get a boyfriend?"
I was speechless,
looking at the wall,
stunned. Holy ****
she did not just stereotype every single disabled homosexual to have ever existed.
I stammered no,
and I tried to explain that I have had boyfriends before,
it just wasn't my thing.
Looking back now I realise that,
I should not have explained anything because I don't ever need to explain anything about the people I love.
I have had a thing for girls,
since I was three,
and when I was three years old I did not notice my disability,
the way it's being noticed today.
And the absolute most heartbreaking thing about both my sexuality and my disability is,
that I still do not notice it as much as everybody else seems to do.
I can be the best girlfriend ever,
no matter what my sexuality is,
no matter how my body looks.
And don't get me wrong;
I like guys too. I think guys are wonderful.
If God had created Eve and Ava,
who would have brought me into this World?
I can get a boyfriend if I want one,
maybe someday I find the most amazing guy ever,
and I will not let my sexuality stand in my way.
But for now,
I am a disabled homosexual,
who decided to tell you about it.
And dear physical therapist:
I have never judged you,
not even when you told me you fell for a fat guy,
and now you're married.
So don't ask me if I'm only a lesbian,
due to the fact that I have a disability,
because guess what?
I'll have my disability no matter if,
the person I'm dating,
has a ***** or a ******
(e.k.j.)
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best
my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.
13.8k
The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold,
As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold.
I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals,
Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles.
I am destitute enough
To bleach out the interests of my cards,
To shatter your savings for a disabled future,
To rummage the stock markets for apertures.
Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow.
Yellow as in,
The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky,
The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights,
The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights,
And the yolk of hope my cheers rely.
So while you chase the sun
with your copper-clad hands,
remember but this:
all that glitters is not gold,
It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Limbs littered the earth, her negligee no longer lay in his soldier’s
world; he would do anything to smell her perfume
once more. What day was it? Ahhh…Monday,
the perfect first date, a moon-
lit walk on a beach. He felt like a train
about to crash and nobody was dancing.
She felt alien alone in their home. Dancing
was impossible and she stared at the photo, a soldier’s
face, not his own. Limbo was a train
journey that never ended. Billboards advertising perfume
and the never ending sun, the never ending moon.
The name of the days changed but Monday
was no different from Tuesday or last Monday.
She wondered if disabled people thought dancing
ridiculous. He could return disabled…the moon
was full tonight, she wondered if he in his soldier’s
uniform would be admiring it remembering her perfume
and not side stepping dead bodies feeling like a train
wreck. How many poor driver’s of trains
were haunted by suicides, faces looming out, the Monday
blues? And some women will never afford perfume
and would never be taken out dancing,
it did not console her. She was one of thousands of soldier’s
wives all gazing wistfully at the unhelpful moon.
She dreams of werewolves howling at the moon,
of him passing through a dark forest on a train
coming back to her, having thrown his soldier’s
gun, stamped in the mud, rejected. But she was the gun, Monday
and no letter had come and her nerves were dancing,
she knocked over her most expensive bottle of perfume.
He was dead, she would never replace the perfume.
She would smash bottles sticking her tongue out at the moon
throwing herself around in life, dancing
like a boat in a storm, occasionally consider suicide by train
but she would never do it. Saturday, Sunday, Monday
all days trooped past like the heavy march of a soldier.
The word soldier stank of cheap perfume and
everything was mundane especially the moon.
People hurry her by like late trains, only a few whirl past dancing.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
A bird, earthbound, disabled by birth.
Left out, deserted and even made fun of by the others, because it was not just different, it was also not capable to do what they ever did,
Taking off into the azure of the wonderful heaven, the sky far above,
A tasteless sight of a rainy day, brought from the drought of emotions
A fate, to never take off, unless he finds another to be his other half,
Broken loneliness, dancing in the loitering darkness of their life, infinite shades of punishment, fear and envy embellished in his soul,
Looked down upon, yet determinded, hopeful of what the future may hold, two single winged herons might be able to melt within love,
Darling, blood flows through the veins of fate, are you my lovebird, the one I'll finally spread the one wing I have with and fly, far away?
Let us melt, like no others have until we are unable to feel alone, dear
So don't be shy, experience the grand beauty of the heavens above with me, after all we are two peas in a *** crushed by the same fate.
Kiss me now, take off with me, so we may fly through the embrace of the sun which is shining, with every cloud and their silver lining,
It will be alright, Darling
~ Umi
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer
We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..
But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all
Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers
Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about
But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains
We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan
We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it
When we get
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life
So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"fight my disability"
we were never at war with one another
like me, it just wants to exist
and so i let it
to some extent
i’ll never “become my disability”
yet i don’t believe it’s a bad thing either
i’ve come to realise that he’s become a part of me
as he’s helped shape my thinking
and maybe even my personality a little bit
i owe all my stubbornness to him
nah
i don’t fight my disability
we’re bffs
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"get up every day"
though for a while, i thought it was
getting up is easy
facing the world?
getting easier
i used to blush at the thought of getting a wheelchair
i’d bury my face in my knees and cover my ears with my hands, thinking that if i couldn’t see it or hear it, i wouldn’t need it
i cared too much of what society would see me as
not “normal teenage girl”
"sad confined possibly a teenage girl?"
normal is overrated
and to be honest?
so is society
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
pretending i’m okay with mainstreaming
dear teachers, “mainstreaming” was never in my vocabulary
pretending?
pfft dear teachers, this is 100% real contentment
IEPs got some getting used to but after 16 years of endless doctors appointments, people in white sterile coats, plastic latex gloves poking, prodding demanding things of me
"mainstreaming"
won’t ever exist in my vocabulary
i know i’m smart
and i know i can do it
so don’t you DARE cry at my graduation
it’d be pretty pathetic if i believed in myself more than you do
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is
accepting the realities
i don’t know when i’ll take my last step
i don’t know when my muscles will give out for good
i know that every day i won’t know what’s right in front of me
i know that i’ll never be able to run another mile in my life
and i know that i won’t ever stop dreaming about the things i wish i could do
would love to do
won’t ever do
might do
one day
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
I have no reason to be sad.
I have food on my table,
I live in a luxurious stable,
I’m not disabled nor financially unstable.
Everything I want, I had.
So please explain to me how I went all bad?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
pray tell my friend
what are other girls like?
stereotypes only go so far
and very early into your
wishful separation of personality within gender
individual women begin to show themselves
strong women, weak ones
light and fair
dark, exotic
hair like waves
some like swirls in the clouds
***** and *****
short, long, bald or full
we have readers and writers
mothers, daughter
achievers and creators
from mechanics to doctors
surfers to fighters
athletes, disabled
every single one
worth their worth
these women don't need
you're irrelevant segregation
don't pit one girl against another
we have a much bigger war to fight
and your comparisons on
how much bigger her *** is
has no room to be heard
not now, not ever
if you can only
praise a woman
by bashing down another
then you do not deserve
to know woman.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
Glance at the bullied survivor with no hair left at all,
Look twice and you'll notice
She's still standing tall.
Watch the former gang leader, walking submissively,
Look twice and see the trail of tears,
As he searches for the winding road to recovery.
Observe the old man scrawl a name in the snow,
Look twice and see a father,
Mourning his murdered daughter buried down below.
Admire the woman you love for sure,
Look twice and realize that,
Due to her past abuse, she's still insecure.
Witness the beating of a man done in vain,
Beneath his unruly hair and dark eyes, look twice-
Don't you see pain?
I recognized the quiet woman, generous to the core.
I looked twice and saw my mother,
Still tortured by memories of the Vietnam War.
Dismiss the endless news reports of crime and abuse,
Look twice and understand,
Violence starts with the power to choose.
Awaken and see the world through new eyes,
Look twice at society and find out,
You've been telling yourself lies.
See the disabled, the victims, those who made the wrong choices,
Look twice and listen,
Now can you hear their agonized voices?
I realized the world was never the cordial society I'd dreamt it to be.
I looked twice and found out,
Stopping violence begins with me.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
America the great?
No, America is hate.
Divided by supremacy
yet, we're called "United" States.
The unfortunate reality
but, I still have faith
that we'll get through this together,
that we'll make it through these days.
Through all these mixed emotions
I just want to say,
this is what it's come to
and NO, IT'S NOT OKAY.
To all my people who are hurting,
I feel you & your pain.
This is "America" & it's a ******* disgrace.
To Mexican & African Americans & gays,
lesbians, bisexuals, transgenders,
I pray.
Muslims, queers, intersexuals,
stay safe.
Asexuals, low income, & women,
have strength.
To all the disabled and victims of ****
& to those that suffer from constant dismay,
I feel for you,
I feel your pain.
Through love and unity
our strength shall remain.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 1:01 AM UTC
I am tired, really tired...
I am tired of my talents not being recognized
I am tired of constantly proving myself
I am tired of being disabled
I am so tired...
Tired of not belonging
Tired of being invisible
Tired of being worthless
I am very, very tired...
I am tired of exchanging fake smiles
I am tired of meaningless conversations
I am tired of appearing dumb so as to get help
I am just tired...
Tired of being useless
Tired of failing
Tired of not dreaming
I am extremely tired...
I am tired of being apologetic
I am tired of being left out
I am tired of being ugly
What I am I saying?
What am I really tired of?
Why am I tired?
I am tired...
Tired of being speechless
Tired of being powerless
Tired of being afraid
In fact, I am broken down...
Broken down by being black
Broken down by being African
Broken down by being primitive
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Wise scarecrow with
Awareness both harrowing and
fallowing, wisdom and knowledge.
Straw in glove you stand in a field
straw man, scarer, protecter of the
unseen world, and fields.
Kuebiko (崩え彦 "disabled prince")
you have no legs to roam,stood out in the wet and cold.
You and I Mr scarecrow are alike, no working legs.
Afflicted bodily,our minds still know
Impaired we are a pair of straw myths
Because he stands all day outdoors, he knows everything
Because I sit all day indoors, I know time.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
In the annals of New York City
An amazing hero is acclaimed,
Known as "The man in the red bandana"
Welles Remy Crowther was his name.
Born in Nineteen seventy seven,
This New Yorker, born and bred,
Could have escaped death's destruction,
But chose to rescue folks instead.
All his life he cared for people,
Loved his family, kept them dear,
But on that day of 9/11
His higher purpose became clear.
An Honor Student, Lacrosse player,
Former fire fighter, too,
When explosions rocked the building,
Welles knew what he must do.
Rescuing with calm authority,
Directing people toward the doors,
He found a woman so disabled
He carried her to the 61st floor.
In the end, before death took him,
Twelve people were brought out, saved.
No one knows where Welles is buried
In his 9/11 grave.
Later, when his mother told
Of the red bandana Welles had,
The survivors saw his picture,
And knew Welles was the brave lad.
Only 26 years old,
Welles Crowther manned up in strife,
That young man is New York's hero...
... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE.
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 11, 2014
13th anniversary of 9/11
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Dont you ever get tired
Tired of this day and last night
Tired of drinking coffee made from the gravy of a cows ****
Or tired from the vile armpits plastered in your face on the tube
I get tired
Tired of drivers that try and cut me in two like their scissors or something
Tired of so called men in cars with big exhausts and white vests parking in A disabled bay or parent and child when they are by themselves
I get tired too
Tired of all the fake news on the tv about a failed pop star loosening their Clothes whilst kids around the world starve
Tired of politicians telling me how much better off I am than i was 5 years Ago ....really !!!
Tiring aint it
Tired of people always moaning yet seeing them never take a step to Change their life's
Tired of the world in debt to itself from this so called money that doesn't Even exist
I'm tired of all this
Why cant we live together
Why do we do such harm
I want to live in heavens eyes
I want to live the land
Why do we fight for dusty tracks
Such evils are not born
It's time for us to change our rights
I'm tired of all this harm
So tired
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
I think they laugh at me
Maybe because I'm strange
Could I be a somebody
Or is that a bit deranged
Can't they see I'm the same
I bleed just like they do
They treat me as if I'm lame
Ignoring me is their rule
So are you picking on the disabled
Thinking we're not fit to work
Because you wonder if I'm able
To be like everyone else who work
I never asked to be this way
I try to forget that horrid past
Not thinking of that terrible day
I wish that memory faded fast
I'm human, I am not someone lower
I'm human, stop knocking me down
I'm human, so I might be slower
I'm human, now put away that frown
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
there was a little centipede a disabled chap was he
one leg it was missing just below the knee
he made a little crutch from a twig he found
so he wouldnt fall as he walked around.
he looked very funny with his little stump
everytime he walked you could hear a thump
now he has a false leg he threw his crutch away
he still roams around to this very day.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Though altercations of a secessionist sound stern,
Their minds are stuck and never learn.
Through a disabled rebellion their built,
Words designed to deplete one's self are spilt.
Although it's said consummation executes in the leaning vice of the secessionist,
The desecration becomes the birth of the segregationist.
The segregation of closed mindedness with those of the voice.
The voice has sculpted our worlds obedience choice by choice.
The voice has seen demons at their best and angels at their worst,
There is a reason why this world hasn't burst.
You see, our world is seen through a lens,
This lens doesn't defy our worth and script the uncleansed.
It simply sets a standard for the closed minded to follow,
The voice, doesn't have a standard to follow, this voice makes the lens for those left to follow tomorrow.
-Joseph B Schneider
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
at this point
means:
river deer
like you’ve never seen.
a soup bowl; empty, aglow.
another’s head
in my hands.
coordination.
energy.
receiving the word
a day late
that energy
has arrived.
marriage, or a single
parent
torn.
perfectly mediocre terror.
a love of statues.
love of placards.
showing my son
the man I’ve chosen
to remember him by.
art not reflective of, or art
sideshow.
knowing the kids of others.
knowing just how many gifts
god had.
that the word overcome
has always been
past tense.
weight gain. weight loss.
detecting
no difference
in weight.
telescope, or the long
thin hat
of god.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:28 AM UTC
Ineffable nefarious taradiddle.
The endless fable, and riddle, of Cain and Abel.
One slew the other without a quiver.
A man went from cinnamon to eerie evil.
Labeled unstable and mentally disabled,
Barely able to bounce back
from being set adrift on a dark and ***** track.
He turned his eyes to the Aurora,
faced the same fate as ***** and Gomorrah,
the most hated man in all the Torah.
The father of ****** and maker of Pandora's box.
He walked with what God had seen as a pox.
Forever caught on this plane
with blood on his hands and ice in his veins.
Looking down, he felt stained and inhumane
as he observed the world he caused so much pain,
yet now, he is all that has remained sustained.
Now again, he turns to the Aurora.
He finds nothing but the sky's acid rain drip down
across an unholy frown and a mark for a crown.
He walks through each desert and town
searching for someone holy to guide him back,
but not a man is good as him now.
Not a single man stands his height
because he became a symbol for whats right.
He seeks good according to God, not himself.
Human kind is now much different,
and his sin against his brother is now not the worst,
despite the fact that it did come first.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Today I accidentally saw a preview of; The News;
a disabled sixteen-year-old girl, a victim of abuse
god
The accused is a priest. A round man in a long black cassock
And a snip view from mass of another priest plays shortly
My face turns green as my mood turns blue
He says he has a holy feeling, that the accusations aren’t true.
A cult; /kʌlt/ noun
‘a system of religious veneration and devotion directed towards a particular figure or object.’
We show our devotion, we kneel and give thanks
He applies lotion, looks at a child and wanks.
god
Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, and to the respect of those beliefs.
My belief is that no human is superior to another human.
A priest is only a man.
And this man in the long black cassock had a plan.
And this child will remain terrorized forever.
People should be held accountable for their actions.
Women’s lives are not to be of similar value to male satisfactions.
An article on ‘The year of ‘Times Up’ and ‘Me Too’ movements has been a dangerous year for men.’
Every year from the beginning of time has been a dangerous year for a woman.
Innocent men are not in danger.
I was sexualized and assaulted at the age of eleven. #MeToo
I wasn’t wearing a short skirt. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t provocative.
I was playing chase.
For years after that game of chase
I had nightmares featuring his face
This is not your place to say this year is dangerous, for men.
Times Up
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC