to the stranger staring at my arm in the grocery line.

an ode to all of the uncomfortable, frustrating and sometimes funny daily encounters that we, as disabled people, experience...

to the stranger staring at my arm in the grocery line

to the message that sits in my DMs: You’re pretty for someone with one hand

to the man on the boardwalk that grabs my arm I’ll pray for you

to the whisper in my college bar (So, what else can that robotic arm do?)

my body is not for you

it’s for the head to foot icy jolt that shoots through me, jumping into Kaaterskill Falls

it’s for bones that buzz for the rest of the day, even after drying off and bundling up

it’s for shoulders burning under the sun after insisting it’s only been an hour! I really don’t need to re-apply. 

it’s for lying with intertwined legs on the couch on Sunday mornings 

it’s for going to bed with aching, calloused feet, indicators of a day well spent

it’s for sweating in the heat and dancing on sticky floors

it’s for the warmth of summer and the salty sea

it’s for running slow and walking fast

my body is not for you

it’s not for your pity, your inspiration, your propositions, or your beacon of hope

it is for ordinary joy, for trust, for connecting and for attempting

it is not your answer; it is my question