#disabled writer

For the times our little boy cried as he clawed right through our skin

the times the hottest shower couldn't clean the rot we felt within

Scrubbing didn't take away his scent or the feel of unwanted touch

Now simply rising from this coffin feels entirely too much.

I wish we could be an inspiration, but we never leave our bed.

I wish we were successful but chose to wilt away instead.

So I close my eyes and hear her, the voice that's in our dream

A siren singing softly, making death seem so serene.

I jump into the water, a desire for peace, to rest and grow

But I was lured here by her and now she will not let us go.

She rips her teeth into our flesh, silent bullets through the brain

Terror repeats like silent films that make us feel insane.

I remember everything now. The way it hurt, the way he never asked

The way the bruises faded but their memories outlast

my will to live, I thrash my limbs, this cannot be so true

No, nothing can be fixed now, there's no button for undo

The voices get louder, my chest goes tight, breaths begin to slow

The water has taken our body over, growing coldly head to toe

But this death is a mere illusion, I cannot easily escape such fate

We're doomed to suffer every day cause redemption came too late

So I breathe and pull us out of the bath, just another fight we cannot win

I can’t work, I can’t do it physically due to my disabilities and the mental strain would send me into burnout if I could. So creating art is how I pass the time, and I want to do it for a living. Except I won’t be able to make a living from it because I can’t work on my art as much as I want. I love making art, I love writing, I love drawing, I love making but sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing I’m worth for. That if I stop creating or I slow down that I’m a burden.

Because that’s what we’re taught, if we’re not productive then we’re worthless.

I have tried to break from this way of thinking, and I have mostly, but it’s how we’re wired so I can’t help but fall back into it.

Right now I am unable to create art at the rate I want to due to chronic illness. It’s taken me years to write a book (albeit it’s my first and I’m 19) that I wanted to have finished by now yet I have so far to go. I keep feeling like my art isn’t good enough, that I won’t be able to do the things I want to, that time is running out. Life isn’t exactly proving my thoughts otherwise either.

I admit, in the past year I have rapidly improved my art due to unwavering determination. Yet it’s hard to feel like it’s enough. I know I’m young, and I will get this experience to create something so amazing that my current self couldn’t imagine doing. For now though, I feel like I’m just lazy, that I could be doing something amazing but I just don’t have the energy or the experience.

I love to imagine a future where I have both, where I get to do everything I want to with my career but my mind moves faster than my ever slowing body. I may never get to do everything I want purely because I don’t have the energy. It’s terrifying.

I’m afraid that I won’t be able to hold a pen by the time I’m 30. I know realistically I will but disabilities keep piling on. Right now my baseline has lowered again and I can’t do the things I want as much. It’s not just art, it’s going to the cinema, starting uni, walking my dog.

Why is it every time I’m doing better, something has to come along and ruin it? Why is it that I can’t create the art I want to because my hands won’t stop shaking? Because I can’t sit up for too long, because my mind is failing just as much as my body.

Then there’s those that claim they have no talent, that steal and under pay artists and use AI.

...

Tone it down so

I don't

get my hopes up.

So I don't

realize just how

incapable you actually are.

You can't move to the other side

of your own bed,

Let alone

move a mountain.

It's pathetic.

You. Are. Pathetic

Crawling on your knees

Grasping for hope.

Gasping for breath.

Just stay in your lane

Stay quiet.

Stay where I won't worry.

Stay here where I can see you.

Exactly as you are.

Exactly as you always were.

Exactly as you always will be.

Falling short and

Falling apart and

Quietly aching