I do not claim to be a writer in any way. But sometimes I find poetry an easier way to try and express what I am feeling or experiencing. This post is a bit about what it’s like to live as a disabled young person.

I had a weird moment walking home from the cinema yesterday. I had my walking stick and I had the ‘Fast and Furious X’ blasting in my ears and totally in my own world. Until for no obvious reason this person I asked if I wanted a hand crossing the road. I didn’t really hear the first time due to overly loud rap music (I was living my main character moment okay). So they proceeded to tap me on the shoulder and ask again. And I found myself after getting over the initial surprise being so polite and apologetic. But what is it about being a young disabled person that makes people feel like they need have no boundaries.

Alternatively when I don’t look disabled peoples assumptions go to opposite way. The immediate assumption is that young people simply don’t get chronically ill. I have been told off by strangers for using a disabled bathroom because ‘i couldn’t be bothered to queue’…So you are left either having to explain very personal medical information or just ignore it and have people think worse of you.

I swing between wanting to be a proudly disabled person and wanting to totally hide my disability all together. It’s a strange complex. But writing about it helps me order my thoughts and maybe in reading this might resonate with you or make you think.

An ode to being a young disabled person.

Walking home with my walking stick,

But that does not stop me being a badass chick.

Babes with mobility aids.

My stick, flora, is truly a Jack of all trades.

Despite the help she gives me I feel shame.

Over something that reduces my pain.

I am fine with the glasses on my face.

But my stick I’ll leave in a different place.

Making a choice to be tired and sore

When I know I could do more?

If I just listened to what my body needs.

We say we are defined by our deeds.

Whoever said that was not a disabled young person.

They haven’t experienced your self confidence worsen.

The looks you get.

Yes even standing in the queue of Prêt.

Eyes tell of thoughts of pity or judgment.

Trust me it isn’t pretty.

To be shouted at on the bus for not giving up your seat.

Because someone like you is a cheat.

I know when I present as visibly disabled any other first impressions are tabled.

Disability isn’t 2D. Illness isn’t all that we can be.

It is a part of me. But not all of me.

I am not an inspiration; I am not fragile; I am not brave; not just because I am disabled.

If I am any of those things it’s because of who I am not what my labels are.

I am an inspiration because I have come so far.

I am brave because I have survived more than I thought I would ever have to.

I am fragile because there are things in life I will struggle to do.

I am not superwoman.

If I am any characteristic it is because I am human.

Disability defines me but it does not consume me.

Pause and think twice before you ask or judge. Would I behave the same to an outwardly able-bodied person or is this a prejudice?

To my chronically ill pals,

Shine like the badass people you are.

Don’t let anyone box your star into one description.

Write your own inscriptions in glowing gold across the sky.

Fly high.