The medical industrial complex
steals so many of us,
right out of our houses,
away from the work,
the struggle to lead others to
the freedom we’ve found.
For the temporarily able-bodied
emergency rooms and doctor’s offices are safe places
for their sick versions.
When I’m ill,
it’s the opposite.
I expend precious energy
making sure you understand
that I never , ever walked
and never, ever will.
Furthermore, being allergic to common packaging
is possible and not the delusion of this woman with a
disability’s
need to garner attention/empathy.
Too many M.D.’s
ignore the paperwork mountain that is my medical history,
dispute PCA who’s spent more days with me than they have minutes,
equate my speech impediment with mental dysfunction.
After occurrence upon occurrence, I've come to
wonder if my
coughing/itchy/injured/whatever body
wouldn’t be better suited
by a day under ultra-cozy blankets
with HGTV and exceeding my self-imposed
limit of four cookies a day because here we go again.
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