Or Perhaps

Or perhaps you would prefer to hear 
my hands shake, that I can no longer  
feel my fingertips, that I shut them in 
closets and cabinets because I do not 
know when I have released the doors 
and when I am still holding on, that my 
thumbs and my toes move on their own,
and I cannot sense half my feet even when 
I am walking, that suddenly, I cramp like 
hinges under stricture of unrelinquishing 
screws, that it runs from the base of every 

perception to practically my pelvis and, oh
lord, if I don’t at least try to make it to the 
closest bathroom, even the strongest drugs
will not untie that knot of nerve endings
and my body keeping score. And I suppose
if that makes you smile, or if tell you, then  
you’ll finally get it (because you surely didn’t
understand when I told you I have anxiety,
that I ask a lot of questions, because, you 
know, it helps to have some context) either

way it will make things a little clearer, won’t
it, and you will finally get it through that dense
collection of brain cells, ego, and bureaucrazy
(I’m leaving that typo there on purpose) that I’m
not something for your collection, and if you
think someone with disability is something you 
toy with then laughingly cast aside, then you 
have picked the wrong doll from the shelf this time
because, trust me, this one will haunt you forever.

Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright April 5, 2024, all rights reserved