Three

All I think about is your body. Let me say more. I think about how it feels, how it moves, how it works. I think about how it breathes, how it digests, how it drinks. I think about how your body feels and how it feels to others. I think about living in an able body, I think about it all the time.

The best parts of myself come from my disabled body. My wit, my charm, my esteem. Disabled bodies need these things to disarm abled bodies.

Our bodies put your bodies ill at ease and we have to help you help us. We help you help us have the life you take for granted in bodies you take for granted. Take my body, please. That was a joke. Are you more comfortable now?

Now that you've seen my tubes, my legs move in my chair, my arms give out in my crutch. Now that you've seen me cry over a staircase, seen me drop what was in my hands as I drop my words, seen my skin tear. Now that you've seen me, how do you see yourself? How does your body feel when you see mine fail me? Touch your face.

Touch your arms. Touch your legs. We see it all.

We see you look and try not to look, we see you stare in the reflection of the glass to catch a sight at us, see you look two, three, four times. It's okay. We look, too. We never stop looking. At our skin, our scars, our stripes. At your neck, your hair, your shoes. We see your clothes and think, not for us. We think, caught in a wheel, too hard to close, not while sitting, not with tubes.

Your body could be like my body. Easy. The next time you trip, sneeze, sleep. The next time you try a new food or give birth. The next time you get older or wiser. Your body is more likely to become like my body than you think. Honestly, it more than likely will be. Have you thought about that?

I rub tallow into my skin that doesn't age. My body that doesn't eat. My muscles that grow weak. You're too young, too pretty, too healthy looking. If wishing made it so. Would I wish my body away? What else would I have to give up?

Would it be worth it? What would you give up to keep your body not like mine?

I can't stop thinking about your body, your mouth your stomach. I feel lips, my teeth, my tongue. I feel my scars, my tube, my bag. ...l feel my feelings, feel my thoughts, feel my pain. I won't tell you about the pain. You don't know and if you did, you wouldn't be able bodied. I will spare you like your body spares you. I feel the pain in my cells, like I made of the pain, and it makes me me. I feel my feelings, my grief, my fatigue. I feel your pity, your curiosity, your disgust. I think about your body instead.

If your body ever becomes like mine, I will think about your body differently.

And so will you. You won't know what to think, where to look, or how to feel.

You will look everywhere, frantic. You will search and ask and question. You will pray and cry and mourn. You will think about every body that you see and even the ones you don't. You will wonder if you will be disabled in your dreams.

In my dreams, I move fast. I am long and lithe with limbs that feel, hands that hold, legs that stand. I feel my feet on the ground and I do not fall, falter, or fail. In my dreams, I process my grief and sometimes not even sleep is a haven, a hallow from disability, disappointment, despair.

I want your body while trying to want my body. I want nothing more than to think a thought about anything else. I want a job, a home, a life. I want a hobby, a vacation, a wardrobe. I want to be curious or throw caution to the fire. I want to pick up and go with nothing in my hands. I want my hands to work. I want to work. I want to want and be wanted. I want this body to everything it is not, a vision of perfection, unreality. I am working on it. I will be working on it forever. I will be thinking about you forever.