Please enjoy the poem I have written below :) I often express myself through poetry but haven't shared any in a while! Do let me know what you all think :)
'The Museum'
Please. Pass your tickets forward,
to the secretary by the door,
Her arms don't always function,
But for you she'll fight that war.
There's a chair there, to the corner,
Take a seat and we will wait.
It seems you must be early,
or perhaps the others late.
Here they come, up the path.
Pass your tickets on the way in.
The museum is just opening,
Step this way and we'll begin.
Today I will be your tour guide, I know this place like my own brain, There appears to be no ground rules here, Just know that words can still cause pain.
Here we have exhibit one, A smiling little girl,
An ounce of cuteness in every inch,
And health in every curl.
Moving forward, exhibit 2,
A proud first day in class,
Take pictures on your smartphones, We all want memories that last.
The next exhibit, number 3,
Is where it gets upsetting, Here we have a crying girl, In a scene that's worth forgetting.
I'm afraid it gets no happier,
This painting shows her fight,
A cruel world placing targets, As bullies cause such fright.
Skipping further forward,
A hospital scene behind this glass,
On the desk, the offending paper,
A diagnosis she'd rather pass.
To the side here are some toilets,
Please do take yourself a break.
I'm afraid they are up those stairs,
It's the best that we could make.
Continuing on with the tour,
We come to find her crying.
Perhaps it's for attention?
All the school think she is lying.
Of course the truth at last comes out,
with subtle changes to her day,
Look at her classmates staring,
As she asks if she must stay.
Our exhibitions constantly change,
But this exhibit is the current end,
The girl who we have followed,
Playing a game she calls 'pretend'
'Pretend' that nothing hurts her,
'Pretend' she fits in too,
'Pretend' that shes not judged,
'Pretend' that she's like you.
This museum shows us simple things,
With which the disabled have to cope.
We aren't exhibits to stare at,
We are more than just lost hope.
So please. Continue passing judgement,
On the home i build myself, The one inside my mind, Where I'm more than just a shelf.
There is no museum for my life, And no tickets will be sold,
Just a doorway to dis-abilities,
And many stories to be told.
The thing our museums are yet to show,
is the most important we could tell,
There should be no dis in disabilities,
As we are 'able' as well.
Natasha Krywald