Look at me, look at me!

What do you see? The dribble sliding down my chin,

Or my wobbly, uncontrollable hands?

My disability cannot be hidden, cannot be masked.

 It is part of me, part of who I am.

Obvious. Unquestionable. Real.

The first thing anyone notices, tethering me immediately 

To a plethora of oppressive presumptions.

How wonderful it would be to deny my disability 

Pretend it wasn’t there, mask it, as others now say they can:

To climb mountains, to play instruments, to cook dinner.

To break the binds of assumption, just for a moment.

Yet that would be to deny reality 

For disability cannot be masked or hidden,

And those that can can’t be real.

As a chain which can be so easily broken does not truly bind.