Solitude in Difference
A poem
A poem
In the quiet hours when the world
is busy with its able-bodied rhythm,
I sit in the stillness of my room,
watching life happen beyond my reach.
The parade of the ordinary marches by,
friends laughing on sidewalks,
lovers strolling hand in hand,
strangers brushing past each other in the rush.
I am an island, separated by a sea
of stigma and misunderstanding.
My wheelchair is a fortress,
both sanctuary and prison.
Loneliness is a constant companion,
curled up beside me like a faithful dog.
It licks my hand with a rough tongue,
reminding me of my solitary existence.
I long for the easy camaraderie
that comes with shared experiences,
the knowing glances and inside jokes
born from a life lived in common.
But my struggles are a foreign language
to those who walk through the world
unencumbered by the weight of disability.
My triumphs are solitary celebrations.
Sometimes, a soul reaches across the divide,
a tentative bridge of compassion and curiosity.
In those moments, the walls
crumble just a little, letting in the light.
I hold onto those connections like lifelines,
tethering me to the world of the living.
They remind me, I am more than my limitations,
that I too deserve love and belonging.
But mostly, I am left to navigate
the path of my own company,
finding solace in the quiet corners
of a life lived on the margins.
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