Poetry of Disability

As Disability, MS, and other similar Awareness Months draw to a close, I thought this would be an appropriate time to share a in a different way. Describing how MS really affects me can prove difficult, outside of a list of concrete symptoms. So how does one communicate this? How about poetry?

National Poetry Month begins on Monday, so it’s time for poeming and pondering.

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“Scars” by Angela Knight

MS

Multiple Sclerosis.
Many Scars.

a Misbehaving System is what I call it.
You can call it what you wish.

Cells that should kill germs harm others instead, and what do they leave behind?
Scars.
What do they take away?
Energy. Control. Ability. Freedom.

“It’s all in your head,” you say.
And I agree.

With scars in my head,
I sometimes wonder what’s left.

Besides scars.

But then I hear an inner voice, one of assurance:

“Scars are not alone. When you look, you’ll find unexpected gifts:
The gift of Empathy to offer an ear to hear of invisible pain, filled with frustration and hard to see with the outer eye.
The gift of Peace beyond understanding, easier to feel when busy-ness is forced aside and stillness found.
The gift of Love you’ll feel as dear ones see through and beyond your scars, and the truest love, shown through one whose scars bring new life.”

MS

Multiple Sclerosis.
More than Scars.
That’s what I call it.
You can call it what you wish.

Not sure I’m “Cool,” but I can try…

“Be Cool. We Are!” An intriguing theme for Indiana’s Disability Awareness Month. I do encourage you to take a look at this message, shared by individuals with varying struggles. Governor Holcomb kicked off the month with support, and I appreciate the words he shared. What does it mean to be “cool”? To be “comfortable in your own skin,” he suggests.

As we face disability, either through experience or observation, it inevitably causes us to feel uncomfortable. As I have gone from starting to use a cane fifteen years ago to gradually using other methods of physical support, I have gradually learned to be comfortable in my own skin, so to speak. I first felt that my cane flashed neon lights, then that a walker screamed of weakness. But as a person facing disability, I have certainly learned the importance of helping others like me feel less awkward. A smile and positive words can work wonders. My cane didn’t glow, my walker didn’t scream, and my wheelchair was just fine.

Some disabilities appear outwardly, others are less obvious. When they appear more obvious, I appreciate the Governor’s Council’s advice: “Be Cool. We Are.” Sounds like a good plan! And for those with disabilities that are more hidden (but just as real), this theme may give reason to contemplate… what hidden limitations are faced by those around me? Whatever they may be, I’ll try to be cool.