How It Feels to be Me

They keep on bending me,
They want to break me.
I give it all I have,
I find it hard to take.

I was not raised a scholar,
Not raised a linguist.
Not raised a Theologian,
I just do my best.

I had to work while others learned.
I had to scrub tubs, but I am not complaining,
It taught me much! I am far more humble.
Perhaps this is the lesson I deserve for being conceited?

I spent my teens and early twenties,
Looking quite good and flaunting it plenty.
I laughed when I saw those who were ugly or with no money,
I chuckled too if someone had to use those electric wheelchairs.

Thinking I knew the story they had,
The things that led up to what all that they did do.
My thoughts may have for some been true,
But not for the me I am now, and not likely for many I laughed at back then.

I really thought that they got fat from using those carts,
Perhaps some did, but the others who like me,
Became disabled and could not walk,
Got heavy as a result of not walking, though they wanted to.

Perhaps they too felt judged by me.
I didn’t laugh loudly, not even audibly.
Still, could they feel I was mentally shaming them?
Looking down on them and totally blaming them.

“What right did I have to do this?” I now wonder
The answer my friends is none. But it’s still done.
Although it did not cause my issues,
Who is to say it was not a gift from above out of love that I got this?

Now the shoe is on the other foot,
I am the one who is laughed at and made fun of.
I seek kindness and I give it, but none is returned,
I can now only sigh, but I still don’t get why.


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