I look in the mirror and detest what I see.

All the little things that are signs of disability.

Joints that are at once too flexible and stiff and shape undone with muscle.

Something subhuman and a failed replica of life.

Would you believe me through?

That I can’t identify anything in particular I would want to change if I could?

***

I close my eyes.

Feel my soft skin and trace the bottom of my ribs with my fingers.

My heart setting the beat for my gentle breath.

Then I remember that I am human.

That it was foolish to feel like something should be changed.

That I am me.

***

Which reality is true I cannot say,

But there is far more proof for the latter.

My mind whispers cruel untruthes for the former.

Standards I have set but cannot meet.

Seeing only the scars of life but without the life.

I find solace in the life.