Pity Party
2016; Elsevier BV; Volume: 149; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1016/j.chest.2015.08.005
ISSN1931-3543
Autores ResumoI’m gonna’ tell you this world makes ithard to be different, to go around sportinga blue wheelchair sign. I dislike staresthat don’t count me as normal. I wear a hosein my nose ‘cause my lungs really suck.Within each a snowstorm battles, whilethe body they live in weakens and wanes.I’m more than what’s not workinginside me. I pull a can of oxygen behind melike a dead dog. Children point and whisper,“Mama, what’s wrong with that lady?” I hearthe Calliope, the Carousel’s awhirl. I’m starof the Big Top. A Un-circus experience, I’ma Geek in the making. It doesn’t matter that Iwear lipstick, take care with my clothes.It doesn’t count that I smile and I’m pleasant,unlike many who walk in my world. More oftenthan not I’m disregarded, seen but invisible,not someone of worth. It doesn’t matter that I’meducated or that I’ve traveled the world. Whatthey see is not the Who that’s me. People see melugging groceries, tipping my oxygen into a cart.I see pity in their faces, but their pity’s the last thingI want. I’m still the Me that’s hidden from sight.I’m funny and smart. I’ve been desired, weddedand bedded. Now, I’m seen as damaged,less than someone who’s whole.
Referência(s)