Reflecting on Disability: A Journey Through Poetry and Identity
From a very young age, I was defined more by metal braces and crutches than by my interests. Despite reveling in the swirl of long, blue dresses, the world first noticed my disability. This early encounter with societal perceptions profoundly shaped my understanding of identity and sense of otherness.
The clinking and grinding of metal from my braces and walking aids were perceived as markers of difference, branding me in ways that felt both visible and visceral. Over time, I grew to detest not just the noise of the braces but also how they and the crutches set me apart, despite how these devices helped me navigate in community spaces. It is paradoxical, really, how devices meant to support mobility can also influence one’s identity within society’s narrow view.
This lack of awareness and resultant isolation are not just about accessibility but are deeply entrenched in societal attitudes. My discussions with friends in therapeutic professions reveal a consistent oversight in disability awareness—it isn’t just about knowing the medical specifics or the latest jargon. It’s about recognizing individuals for their passions and personalities, not just their disabilities.
In high school, I turned these frustrations into poetry, starting with “Black and Blue,”:
“Black and Blue”
Cross legged in the dark
The grip is tight,
A lump rises staring at the missing eye.
Fingers dare not touch the stained flesh
Faces turn behind.
The air,
Clammy,
False from pretense
Turn around.
Ignore the corner,
The missing eye
The twisted leg,
Fingers dare not touch the same flesh.
Cross legged in the dark,
Surroundings are strange.
Tainted is the flesh,
Broken,
Black and blue
Reality is weak compared to illusion.
In the corner,
Staring out of the missing eye
Is there a void?
Black is black,
Look again.
Turn around.
Blue is blue.
The fingers are cold
The flesh is charred and broken
Cross legged,
Alone and weak
Faces turn behind.
Missing eye
Twisted leg
Fingers dare not touch the same flesh.
Decades later, I responded to the original poem with “Whispers of Blue and Black,”:
“Whispers of Blue and Black”
Cross-legged in the quiet blue,
The fabric falls, my refuge true.
A shadow passes, eye unseen,
Silent stories, woven between.
Hands withhold from the cloaked frame,
Turned backs whisper, just the same.
The air, tinged with a subtle dread,
Masks of normalcy, thinly spread.
Turn aside,
Ignore the truth,
The hidden strength,
The veiled youth.
Cross-legged in the whispering night,
My fabric shields, out of sight.
Yet beneath the blue, a stark contrast,
Truths in black and blue, forever cast.
In this corner, where shadows lie,
Staring out, with an unseen eye.
Is black just black?
Or more than seen?
Look once more,
Where blue has been.
The air grows cold,
The fabric worn,
Cross-legged here,
Not forlorn.
Faces turn, yet still, I rise,
Beyond the gaze, the silent cries.
With each thread, black and blue,
I weave the old, embrace the new.
This poem delves into themes of visibility, isolation, and identity, with the fabric metaphor illustrating the layers of protection and perception surrounding me. It challenges traditional views on disability, advocating for recognition of the full humanity of individuals.
In revisiting these poems and my memories of twirling in blue, I see a narrative that is both deeply personal and universally relevant. Black and blue, often the colors of bruising, should not define our experiences. They are merely parts of a broader palette from which we draw strength and identity.
Through my poetry, I endeavor to foster empathy and celebrate the diverse paths of individuals with disabilities. I emphasize our capacity to transcend labels and surmount obstacles, urging readers to look past the tools we use and the challenges we confront.
We are not defined solely by our conditions; rather, we are unique individuals with narratives worthy of recognition, intricately woven and painted in shades beyond mere black and blue or whispers of blue and black.
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