As a young child

I remember the stares.

The older kid's

With their nasty glares.

I sat in my chair

With my hands on the wheels

Hearing their words

Like they know how it feels.

They have no clue

What it's like not to walk.

To sit in this chair

Free only to talk.

But despite their thoughts

I manage to survive

With the thoughts of my own

And their power to revive.

If it wasn't for my hope

I would probably be dead

Somewhere in a ditch

With a bullet in my head.

The words do more than hurt,

Which is why I fear them most;

The mental pain they bring

For the undeserving host.

So now you've read my story,

I hope that you can see

Why it's wrong to hurt a child

With disabilities.