#disabled poetry

[rosebud-poet]

[Black text on a white background that reads:

my gender is whatever makes me easiest to kill,

my gender is breeding stock, kill all men, can’t you just stay unobtrusive and neutral, the question cut apart in debate chambers, my ragged flesh and bones picked for statistics and arguments by vultures in suits who go home to too-young wives, breathing out my same old screams to useless onlookers sitting in rows, you’re disgusted by my blood on the floor but unwilling to shoot down what’s killing me slowly, what are the magic words i need to say to get you to care that i’m dying, 

my gender is polite young woman in a pantsuit long long dead, forward-thinking and modern, isn’t it funny that she lived as a man, she wanted better opportunities, we dug up the body and passed it around the archives and if you look here you’ll see the place where they cut out the most important parts, so sad to see such irreversible damage, so sad she never had children, so sad she was mutilated, but she was such a trailblazer, the first woman to put a bullet in a state senator’s head,

my gender is a bullet in a state senator’s head, shooting down vultures before they break my sibling’s skin, crippled tranny faggot (triple threat) with a score to settle, with a gash down the center of its chest spitting fire through pharmacy phone lines, never fucked someone who wasn’t an enemy of the state, never was your little girl, sticking around till the bitter end and triple dog dare you to come bash me yourself you bloody-beaked coward, come watch me be the monster you all say i am,

my gender is whatever makes me hardest to kill.]

#poetry that i can't post on instagram without mark zuckerberg himself tapping on my window to go WHOA HEY BUDDY #anyway welcome to my blog therapy is not enough i need to burn down the utah state house #poetry #trans poetry #poetblr #disabled poet #disabled poetry #trans poet #trans poets on tumblr #trans rage #stop trans genocide #trans poem #transmasc poet #vent poem #vent poetry

[thetableintheback]

hot wheels - jude francis

[text description:

(in italics) hot wheels

a man rolls into a bar, four wheels and a pair of legs, sweetest voice

you ever heard with a neckline

pulled low enough to get what he wants

from men who won't look hard enough to know better.

his beard is barely visible in the low light but his chest is front and center,

which is what matters tonight.

the guy at a nearby table stands, tucks in his chair, asks

"can you get through okay, miss?"

so our man smiles and mouths a "thank you", sends it off with a bat of his lashes.

he tucks himself under a table not built for legs like his; drops his hands to

the sticky wooden surface, drops the act, too, like slipping off a coat -

one that only fits in certain lights, one that used to be his, but really it belongs

to a girl he used to know.

later in the night he'll slip past that same character from before

this time too tired to pretend, and

thank every crossdresser and cripple in the world for the sterile neutrality of disabled bathrooms,

where he is not forced to choose between fates heralded by stick figures.

back to the table now and back past

the other men, entirely unlike him.

a man rolls out of a bar, and back home

to where his voice is

nothing but his own. /end description]

#poetry #original poem #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #trans #transgender #disabled #c slur #trans poetry #disabled poetry #described #offerings #from the table #get it. hot wheels. because im hot and im on wheels #jude francis

[joy-haver]

Listen to your body.

But know that it’s speaking to you in a language you have not learned.

Meet yourself where you are at, and come up with a pigeon, a trade language; so that you can make deals together, internally.

Listen to your body. It is screaming. But don’t listen with an expectation of understanding. You have to learn the vocabulary as you read.

look up the words. Ask clarifying questions. Cry yourself to sleep.

But if you don’t learn how your body speaks, you won’t be able to answer as it shouts, desperately, for what it needs.

#disabled #hypermobile ehlers danlos #physical disability #spoonie #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #pots syndrome #disability justice #anarcho disability #cpunk #cripple punk #disability #accessibility #bipolar disorder #antipsychiatry #text post #disabled poetry #queer artist #queer poets on tumblr #I’m playing with the concept of what is and isn’t a poem in this

[cosmoechi]

early-morning walk for the waking.

#this one's a little rough but i haven't written anything in a while #💖.txt #actually disabled #chronic illness #cripple punk #potsie #disabled poetry #late night chats with the oak bride #poetry #ameteur poetry

[danathon23]

I wrote a poem titled “SICK”. I decided to post it here while it’s July (2023), Disability Pride Month.

Image description: A brown paper journal lays open on top of light blue bed sheets. The page holds a poem written with grey and maroon colored pencils. An orange knit beanie lingers in the top right of the photo, creating a soft arched shadow that hesitates right above the poem. The title of the poem “SICK” appears in big letters and has an added effect that could be described as creating a shadow or a 3-Dimensional effect. The drawing of the word “sick” is what led me into writing the poem, which reads:

SICK

see how it rises / the letters of the word duplicate / double / there’s more / abundance here / sunshine and shadows love and / grieve — being / more possibilities / sinking beyond space and time

End image description.

#Disability Pride Month #DisabilityPrideMonth #sick #poem #poetry #Crip Poetry #disabled poetry #disabled #chronically ill #chronic illness #pots #queer #beyond survival #abundance #grief #described #audio description

[campgender]

[image description: an original poem titled “Officium Divinum,” Latin for “divine service,” the name for the official set of Roman Catholic prayers. the text reads:

My baby, he puts the church in service. My tank top pinup. My starstruck. Want to pack his lunch with a heart-freckled love note. We’d be in trouble if I ever left the house—always window-shopping at that altar. Hymn board of desire, calligraphed agenda. I wear desperation like it’s designer: his methodology gets me hot. Never a variable unconsidered. Feel bare under all that attention & so grateful I can’t breathe.

Only knew each other two months when he descended butch fury outside the emergency room at 8am, neither of us having slept. Out-of-body experience as the narrator says I’m gonna fall in love with him. Pinched myself for a couple weeks, cautious out the corner of my eye—should’ve realized this would grow on his kind of time.

I’m telling you, my baby, he invents new miracles. Shows up the loaves & fish with endless desserts I can actually eat. Never misses a moment of mourning. I’d like to think my grandmama would’ve understood this if nothing else: the funeral four thousand miles away & his bike outside my apartment building, bag of groceries in tow. end image description.]

#poetry #queer poetry #t4t #disabled poetry #butch/femme #femme4butch #aching with this one folks! hope that comes across #mac writes #mac has another faith crisis #i love you i want us both to eat well #image described #food mention #okay to reblog <3 #οἱ λίθοι κράξουσιν

[hanslwrites]

framework

i am the very definition of self-destructive i say, with no shame it's automatic, symptomatic simply, a fact of life unfair and terrible and mine to claim

who was i meant to be if not this i don't regret anything i wouldn't change a thing wouldn't risk all i have for a different person in the making because this made me me

i am the very definition of broken but i am not wrong i view the world from another angle unexpected but sorely needed my time is limited but i'm not ready to be dismissed

i am not brave when i suffer when i merely persist as if it's even a question i am brave when i tell people where to go when i tell people no

#poetry #poetryblr #poets on tumblr #hansl poetry #disability #chronic illness #autoimmune disease #acceptance #disability acceptance #disabled anger #disabled rage #no regrets #ableism #disabled poet #disabled poetry #disability poem #disability poetry

[yum-is]

Not Dead Yet

[Plain Text: Not Dead Yet]

Listen

To the tip tap rainy day pattern of my step.

The click of my cane is the shading of my walk,

Aluminum bent handle

The lines of my sketch Stretch

My dislocation between my teeth.

I know the gummy taste

Of orange bottle medication

Lick

The dust off my thumbs

Swallow

The bittersweet taste of relief,

Maybe.

Two tablets taken by mouth daily,

Check my pulse against the Morse code cheat sheet,

Fall risk, it says

Sick, it says

Alive, alive, alive

Not dead yet, 

It says.

I'll hang x rays on my walls

And call it art.

#my poetry #my writing #poetry #writing #disability #disabled pride #hEDS #POTS #cane user #disabled poetry #i just got out of the hospital lmao

[unfathomable-understanding]

And some days it really seemed like I was more loneliness than human.

Loneliness has this habit to cut you open, from thighs to neck, and bury itself between your organs. It finds its place under your ribcage and beats in rythme with your heart. Boom, Boom, Boom, day and night. As such, you cannot get away from it.

Classrooms are always empty when you walk alongside loneliness. Public transport is always quiet, and streets are always gray. From the moment you open your eyes in the morning, to the moment you close them at night, it is always carried within you.

A classmate I had a decent relationship with but wasn’t a friend once asked me « Are you okay ? » and I almost cried right there and then, because I had been eating lunch alone for months and no one had ever asked.

In french, we have an expression : « Mieux vaux être seul.e que mal accompagné.e ». It is better to be alone than in bad company.

And so I choose to be alone. That it was my choice does not make the loneliness any less heavy. It might even be worst, to know I’m the one who chose to walk away. For my mental health, I told myself.

I had always had friends before this, but leaving high school is a harsher break than you ever expect. People you saw every day for the past 7-10 years are suddenly gone. You don’t text them, and they don’t text you, and one day you realise you don’t know anything about them anymore. You can’t ever remember their degree.

And so you’re alone. You meet other people, and they’re fine, but not good. Can anyone replace childhood friends who grew by your side ?

That’s the thing with being different: unless you look for, and find, people who are different in the same way as you, you are always alone.

The class was full of able bodied cis straight white girls, with a few exceptions who still did not understand me in the way others had before. (My middle school friends did not have a choice in this; they knew me before I was different. They had to learn with me.)

They did not understand the cane. They did not understand the gender. They did not understand the aromanticism. They did not understand the ADHD. They did not understand the way I dressed, the way I wore my hair. They did not understand my fights, or the way I acted. They almost always forgot I couldn’t take the stairs as fast as them, or at all on some days.

They found me too loud, too immature, too strange. It took me a while to understand what the feeling that bubbled in my stomach was when I heard one of them say « you changed your hair again ? ». It felt like being treated as a child, unable to make normal, decent, expected decisions for xemselves.

I stopped talking at lunch. And then I sat a little farther away. And then I didn’t join them at all anymore. Not once did any one them ask me about it, or proposed that I joined them. Not even the kindest one, who had written me a letter so I could get my name change approved.

And so, I chose loneliness.

If you look closely enough, you’ll see the scar of it. From thighs to neck, rough and shaky. Internet friends are lovely, but they cannot take the loneliness away.

I’ve gotten used to it. It is still here, but it’s smaller now. The world is painful and people will always hurt you, wether on purpose or not, and there is nothing you can do to prevent that. You hurt people wether you want to or not. It is often out of our control, the pain we inflict on others.

Do not focus on that. If you realise, apologise, learn the lesson, and move on. The loneliness doesn’t leave, but it grows smaller with each new year.

#my art #loneliness #chronic pain #disabled #queer #trans #queer artist #trans art #queer poetry #trans poetry #disabled poetry #bodies

[oxbloodkiss]

Disease, disease, disease

Am I supposed to find horror and consequence in :

The way you mourn the incurable ?

The way you say you miss what I used to be ?

The way you talk to me as if I have died and I am but a husk?

[ THE NUMBER YOU HAVE REACHED IS DISCONNECTED. ]

What I am afraid of :

The feeling of something ( many things ) watching from the trees

The abrupt stop of animal song at night

The smile of a doctor ( predators showing teeth )

BE NOT AFRAID

BE NOT AFRAID

BE NOT AFRAID

The only bodies that line hospital walls these days are of the elderly & the disabled - and, your God willing, you'd never become one of us.

[ THE NUMBER YOU HAVE REACHED IS DISCONECCTED. ]

#vent poetry #disabled poetry #queer poetry #poetry #gothic horror #cw religious themes #deity: my poetry

[poemtrans]

— “actually, i rather like myself scarred, thank you very much!” by @poemtrans

#op #poetry #poets on tumblr #queer poetry #queer poets on tumblr #spilled ink #trans poetry #trans poets on tumblr #self harm #top surgery #bottom surgery #on the body #undescribed #trans writers #trans poets #disabled poetry

[thetableintheback]

roadkill comedy special - jude francis

[text description:

(in italics) roadkill comedy special

on stage at some shitty bar, i'm killing the crowd. in this dream, i am a stand up comic.

in this dream i can stand, and there's not a wheelchair in sight as i adjust the mic

(even in my mind, things must go wrong)

and wait for the laughter to die.

it trails off like bleeding out on the roadside.

i open the wound fresh -

"anyone else wish they'd killed themself before it got this far?" -

and the room roars back to life in front of me.

in this dream, i say these things under a spotlight just my size while

strangers whoop and holler at their poorly lit tables.

i flay myself in front of an audience of shadows and spin their applause into thread

which i use to sew myself up before the next act comes on.

i save the bleeding for the roadside;

legs mangled and twitching, i cry for

help but it is weak

and not funny any more. /end description]

#poetry #original poem #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #suicide tw #blood #disabled poetry #offerings #from the table #described #jude francis

[joy-haver]

Let us take turns forgetting skills.

The guiding touch of your hand is something I long to feel.

Adjusting your posture as you draw back a bow,

Your hand over mine as you show

Me how to cook a recipe that I taught to you

-The act of instruction as an intimacy to do.

May we contrive every reason to touch each other’s face,

You, beardless one, teach me how to shave.

Let’s brush each other’s teeth In the morning,

Line each other’s eyes in the evening,

Cry each other’s tears at midnight,

And sing each other’s songs in the sunlight.

Come, love me.

Show me how to love you,

I already know,

But let me echo the instructions back to you,

So that you may learn to love yourself too

#short poem #poem #disabled poetry #uncaptioned #romance #love poem #queer poets on tumblr

[cosmoechi]

a mouthful of nothing • late-night chats with the oak-bride

#part of a bigger project about being trans and disabled. #in reality I am viciously visible. but never here. #actually disabled #cane user #chronic illness #potsie #trans #transsexual #(<- prefer that term) #trans poetry #disabled poetry #cripple punk #late-night chats with the oak-bride #my poetry

[jamesdallasrhinesmith]

July is disability pride month & I wanted to post a poem I wrote two weeks ago about some of my experiences as someone who is disabled. I also wanted to shed some light on some of the ableism I’ve experienced, how it’s affected me, & my struggle with disability pride. I have an incredibly deep shame & guilt about my experiences of being discriminated against & about being disabled in general. I and many others have suffered in silence and that is why disability pride is needed.

To my fellow disabled people you deserve to talk about your experiences, you don’t deserve the shame and guilt others have given you. You deserve to love yourself and define your experiences for yourself without others' unsolicited input. You deserve much more than what others have given you.

And to the nondisabled people, this is why you need to listen to those of us that experience these things. Those of us who are disabled live a life you have never seen or experienced and most of you never will. It doesn't matter if you have a disabled family member or friend or coworker, etc. You have not and probably never will experience what they have. You will never truly be able to understand their experiences on the same level as other disabled people can. You will never be that eleven-year-old. Think before you speak and educate yourself on our issues(and by educate I mean get your education from disabled people only, not those speaking over us or "on our behalf"). We fucking matter and we deserve to be proud and live a life without suffering. Stop contributing to the problem.

Also mobility aids aren't a bad thing, stop treating them like they are.

Happy disability pride month, even though it can still be hard to feel proud.

#jamesd jpeg #jamesd.jpeg #jamesdjpeg #jamesdallasrhinesmith #jamesdallasrhinesmithpoetry #cripple punk #disability pride #disability pride month #disabled writer #disabled poet #disability poem #disabled poetry #disability poetry #disabled punk #queer poetry #trans poetry #spilled ink #writing community #writersaroundtheworld #poets society #writerstag #instapoem #instapoetry #picturepoetry #picture poetry #picture post #trans poem #trans poet #queer poets on tumblr

[hanslwrites]

A Fruitless Wish

Would you scream with me Drive through the night The flickering fear of my wish growing with the shadow of every streetlight we pass along the way Where are we going...is it any better than where we've been?

Would you scream first When the sound sticks in my throat So desperate to open up that I shutdown at the magnitude of everything so long held in I can't, I can't, I can't - my usual refrain echoing endlessly inside my head A habit hard to break (don't let go, play nice, stay quiet) I can't. My voice breaks instead (I break a touch more with each second I deny myself)

Would you scream louder and longer Holding steady, an unwavering faith that I will join you (holding me steady without a touch) Your voice a rampage of emotion...what does it say? Is it my rage reflected and given over so much more easily by you? Is it a rallying cry? Telling me over and over: let go, just let go Or is it another thing entirely? A love song too raw for words

Would you scream with me, just because I asked No persuasion required, no second guessing My request a call to action taken up immediately Your pleasure evident at any way to help, however strange or brief

We can't scream forever, if I can scream at all But that journey would be taken together A string of moments that might make a little more sense of the world If only to us, if only for my heart feeling a little less broken, despite the rest of myself

#poetry #poetryblr #poets on tumblr #hansl poetry #disability #disabled grief #disabled anger #disabled rage #unconditional love #screaming #poem #poems #disabled poet #disabled poetry #disability poem #disability poetry