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I am not a good cripple
I am not brave or inspirational
I was not a courageous child
Nor injured in war

I do not bear my cross with grace and patience
My honesty is unpalatable, humour too morbid
Cousin Helen can go fuck herself
I create uncomfortable silences

There is no yearly event for me
My illness is not marketable
I am not “battling” anything
(It’s a war of attrition)

I am not a good cripple
Sympathy makes me sneer
I have to choke out thank yous
And pretend I don’t resent it

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