glides to a stop.
empty of its empty contents.
somewhere a bag of bones lies.
i imagine her bouncing with cartoonish spring down
a very
very
steep hill.
it’s unfair that she’s taking so long to die.
and it’s unfair that i’m thinking this way.
there is nothing I cant do
I am invincible
you may see a crippled little girl
but I am a Titan
A monster
A goddess
I can see the stars
Where you only see the clouded atmosphere
Ri Watson
Roaming in a wheelchair, I get to see how people truly are. Some make way as they feel pity. Others offer money. But there are the select few who by and ask me if I want any help when there are high platforms.
wheelchair spokes, creaking wobble. sandy ramps, metal divider clanking in place. Ka thunk! then smooth smooth sailing. springboard tallies the bend. silvery aggravation, ordering food, looking up up up.
there’s a girl in a wheelchair
and i see her everyday
rolling down the second floor hallways
slowly
as she stops at each doorway
to peer through the frame
to the buildings beyond
and the light shines
on her multicolored hair
until after a moment
she wheels around
and continues
this girl
she sits with her face
made up of rainbow shards
and her expression
beyond
Thankful for each moment of everyday. Don’t forget to count your blessings. Someone always has it harder than you. A wheelchair. It can be both a blessing to someone without legs or a curse to someone who once had legs that worked well. BUT, we can be thankful for air in our lungs. Eyes to see.
Becky Nadeau
stuck in a sitting position forever. Rolling rolling rolling keep them doggies rolling rawhide. The challenge would be to not be eternally frustrated. I would not want to be in one but respect those who are
jrm
In the front row sat a man in a wheelchair. He only used it when he wanted to get a good seat. Those who knew him well enough to know he didn’t need a wheelchair, knew him well enough to know that mentioning that fact to him would be a bad idea.
tonykeyesjapan
Sitting in her wheelchair, the old woman looked out the window. It was morning; the light hit her face gently, welcoming. A plant sat on the sill, drooping a little. The woman wondered if her daughter would visit her today, but she remained doubtful
Kevin
the patient was rolling down the wheelchair ramp, trying to get away from the criminal. The criminal that wanted to steal her life since it was worth so much. Her breathing was labored, although she had enough to think about and worry about. She was going to die. She was dead. She couldn’t get away
Victoria Smith
David didn’t know what to do with himself. He was the jock who always mocked the kid in the wheelchair, the kid with the twisted face, the kid with thick glasses, and now that was him.
Linda
Crosby sits in her chair and tells us how it is her identity. She is seen as a chair first. Not even a teacher, woman, intellectual, inspiration, but as wheels. It’s heartbreaking, and important.
My sister and brothers would push me up and down the hallways much
to the dissaproval of the nurses- they weren’t pushing, more like zooming me
And I was nine and had pneumonia
And then later in life I saw the movie murderball
And thought maybe wheelchairs weren’t so bad.
Ellie
An old woman came past me in a wheelchair. The squeak of the wheels spoke for her tragic past. What is it that makes people look away when they see people who’s lives have been sprinkled by tragedy? We should stare misfortune in the eye, every time. I smiled at her. She smiled back. I’d guess that a traumatic event or disability only serves to strengthen the bond and love of life’s other aspects.
Louis Triggs
gets you from one place to another
kind of like your arms
and your back
and your shoulders used to
i miss you and the way you carried me
Maryam
Wheelchair. A chair that mobilizes the physically handicapped and allows them help to navigate life. A chair much needed by many. An important chair to society. A chair that is designed to empower the disenfranchised and disabled.
“Whose wheelchair is this?” my director demanded as he pushed his way into the backstage area.
“Er…it’s for the next scene,” the stage manager mumbled. “We need it by the entryway.”
“Well, it’s in my way, damn it! So move it!”
“God, what an asshole,” my castmate growled.
“You’re telling me?” I laughed. “I have to live with him.”
Belinda Roddie
He slowly pushed himself forward once more. The wheels creaked and lost traction on the ice beneath his iron wheelchair. He couldn’t remember the last time his feet had touched the cold ground. His muscles had probably become to weak to support even his withered body.
Alissa Moffit
The child pushed hard against the wheelchair and suddenly it began to move. The wheels groaned and creaked to life as they turned, heading for the open door at the end of the hall. Each spin of the wheels it gained speed, rushing footrest first along the tiled floor. The child watched in stunned silence as the wheelchair turned itself around the corner past the door. The wheelchair raced ever faster until it reached the stairwell where it abruptly halted, wheels unable to carry it safely down the tall cracked stairs.
Tweety
His deep blue eyes looks into the distance. I’m not sure if he sees the world now – the beautiful seascape in front of him, or if he was looking deep into his past; his future. He purses his lips thinly, turns his wheelchair and beckons me. Time to go home.
When I see someone in a wheelchair the first thought that comes to my mind is “look at them as you would anyone else”. I imagine people subjected to life in a wheelchair would get tired of being looked at with sympathy, so I make every effort not to do that. The irony of that thought process is the very next thought that pops into my head is “could they tell that my normal look was forced?” If so, then what was the point of making so much effort to avoid the sympathetic look. Afterall, the sympathetic look would have been genuine. Clearly, I am an overthinker, and believe that I am the center of the universe. The person in the wheelchair may not have noticed me, or the glance that I gave them as we passed one another. Afterall, I am the majority – not the minority. The person in the wheelchair is the minority in a typical public setting, so they couldn’t possibly notice the glances they receive from every person that notices them. Does every person notice them? Being the minority in any way has to be hard….doesn’t it?
Veronica Medlin
I walked past the large glass door which I was sure needed to be cleaned up, and walked straight to the woman with a nice smile waiting at the other side of the counter. “Good morning.” She grinned widely, but I could only pay attention to the wheelchair forgotten on the corner of the room. “I’m here to see Mr. Delaware.” I muttered, although the pitiful look she gave me had chills creeping down my spine.
mobility, disabled, abled, helpful, chair on wheels, access, sad, happy, ramps, everyone should be aware.
kim Messenger
She never thought it would come to this. The last thing she remembered was taking a left turn onto the road leading past her house. Then she woke up to this. They said she would recover, but she would never walk again. The rest of her life, in a wheelchair.
Illness, being handicapped is not an excuse to do bad things or never succeed. It is an inspiration to do the opposite. There are so many people that are handicapped, some even in a wheelchair does work. They are an inspiration for everybody.
Instead of teasing them, look at the perseverance and determination that they do to succeed.
Not like other people who doesn’t.
There wasn’t a ramp. No polite “well, we hate that you’re stuck like that, but let us try to help you out a bit.” No, that’d be way too much to ask for. There were stairs. Bunches and bunches of stairs.
It sounded pathetic in my own ears “Well, I tried to meet you, but I couldn’t get up the stairs so I just waited down here.”
you could move. they said you couldn’t, yet your fingers played with the pattern of the rain, you lips could form the most amazing words any of the nurses had heard and your smile could lift the entire ceiling off the hospital.
i told this to all of them and although they kept smiling a polite professional smile, i saw a glimpse of your joy in their eyes
Sarah screamed and beat her hands against the cold leather arm rests. Her hair was lank and dirty, her eyes wild and crusty. She looked like misery personified. Her skin was pale and waxy, with red scratch marks marring her entire body. The clothes she once wore had disintegrated into rags. Her wailing ceased suddenly and her body fell slack in the silver chair.
Mary
The wheelchair was a solid weight beneath her, wheels bent slightly from the beating she had given them, stubbornly still now despite her desperate need to continue moving forward.
“Darn it!” Exclaimed Grandma as she wheeled her wheelchair through the garden. I looked up from my kneeling position amongst the petunias to see her shake her head and push harder on the wheels that had been her legs for the last decade. “Is it time to get a new wheelchair already, Gran?”
The abandoned wheelchair sits at the end of the long hallway. A single flickering light shining down upon its once sparkling chrome. Now it sits forgotten and dilapidated. The heart covered in dust and grime still beats a mournful song. She breathes in and is filled with anguish. Her love long since been gone. Rusty, creaking, and broken. The patient still waits. None sense strung together with spiderwebs and paper clips. I leave them. No one looks for them any longer anyways.
J
disabled mobility trapped dead no life gone
emma
Wheelchairs are helpful for older people or if you are imobile in some way. They typically come i the color black, but maybe they need new designers because it’s such a depressing color.
Wheelchairs also make it difficult for persons to use stairs, & will ne
alexandria
She slowly wheeled her way out of the door and into the light, not knowing what was just ahead. She had no reason to leave behind everything, but she had a feeling she had to. She kept going, not knowing. Not knowing. As she went through the light she suddenly knew and everything was alright.
Ruby
Four months ago, her mom would have stopped at my register, we would have had a nice chat, and it would have been a break in my otherwise monotonous shift. But things have changed. Her boyfriend beams as her mom says something funny. I feel her cart push past me, wait for the hello, and instead, feel the wrath of silence. I gaze blankly at the customer’s jacket in front of me. I’m nowhere near here now, floating away in that grocery cart, a wheelchair for all of my fractured feelings.
harry is disabled. he can’t walk. but louis can. and louis is always there for harry. he always was and always will be. since the met in kindergarten about 15 years ago. he will always be there to push harry around in his wheelchair. he will always be there when harry needs him.
I nearly tripped over the wheelchair. How ironic it would have been, jogging down the highstreet only to be sent flying by some poor soul cradled in his only means of transport. One moment the picture of healthy living, the next a crumpled heap on the pavement.
Angus Rose
harry is disabled. he can’t walk. but louis is there. he always was, always is and always will be. he will always push harry’s wheelchair around when harry needs him. he will always care.
glides to a stop.
empty of its empty contents.
somewhere a bag of bones lies.
i imagine her bouncing with cartoonish spring down
a very
very
steep hill.
it’s unfair that she’s taking so long to die.
and it’s unfair that i’m thinking this way.
there is nothing I cant do
I am invincible
you may see a crippled little girl
but I am a Titan
A monster
A goddess
I can see the stars
Where you only see the clouded atmosphere
Roaming in a wheelchair, I get to see how people truly are. Some make way as they feel pity. Others offer money. But there are the select few who by and ask me if I want any help when there are high platforms.
wheelchair spokes, creaking wobble. sandy ramps, metal divider clanking in place. Ka thunk! then smooth smooth sailing. springboard tallies the bend. silvery aggravation, ordering food, looking up up up.
I miss pushing my grandmother in her wheelchair.
I’d ride it so fast, she’d shriek. She was adorable.
I wish she’d stop passing away in my nightmares.
there’s a girl in a wheelchair
and i see her everyday
rolling down the second floor hallways
slowly
as she stops at each doorway
to peer through the frame
to the buildings beyond
and the light shines
on her multicolored hair
until after a moment
she wheels around
and continues
this girl
she sits with her face
made up of rainbow shards
and her expression
beyond
Thankful for each moment of everyday. Don’t forget to count your blessings. Someone always has it harder than you. A wheelchair. It can be both a blessing to someone without legs or a curse to someone who once had legs that worked well. BUT, we can be thankful for air in our lungs. Eyes to see.
stuck in a sitting position forever. Rolling rolling rolling keep them doggies rolling rawhide. The challenge would be to not be eternally frustrated. I would not want to be in one but respect those who are
In the front row sat a man in a wheelchair. He only used it when he wanted to get a good seat. Those who knew him well enough to know he didn’t need a wheelchair, knew him well enough to know that mentioning that fact to him would be a bad idea.
Sitting in her wheelchair, the old woman looked out the window. It was morning; the light hit her face gently, welcoming. A plant sat on the sill, drooping a little. The woman wondered if her daughter would visit her today, but she remained doubtful
the patient was rolling down the wheelchair ramp, trying to get away from the criminal. The criminal that wanted to steal her life since it was worth so much. Her breathing was labored, although she had enough to think about and worry about. She was going to die. She was dead. She couldn’t get away
David didn’t know what to do with himself. He was the jock who always mocked the kid in the wheelchair, the kid with the twisted face, the kid with thick glasses, and now that was him.
Crosby sits in her chair and tells us how it is her identity. She is seen as a chair first. Not even a teacher, woman, intellectual, inspiration, but as wheels. It’s heartbreaking, and important.
My sister and brothers would push me up and down the hallways much
to the dissaproval of the nurses- they weren’t pushing, more like zooming me
And I was nine and had pneumonia
And then later in life I saw the movie murderball
And thought maybe wheelchairs weren’t so bad.
An old woman came past me in a wheelchair. The squeak of the wheels spoke for her tragic past. What is it that makes people look away when they see people who’s lives have been sprinkled by tragedy? We should stare misfortune in the eye, every time. I smiled at her. She smiled back. I’d guess that a traumatic event or disability only serves to strengthen the bond and love of life’s other aspects.
gets you from one place to another
kind of like your arms
and your back
and your shoulders used to
i miss you and the way you carried me
Wheelchair. A chair that mobilizes the physically handicapped and allows them help to navigate life. A chair much needed by many. An important chair to society. A chair that is designed to empower the disenfranchised and disabled.
My legs are paralyzed, but my brain is limitless.
“Whose wheelchair is this?” my director demanded as he pushed his way into the backstage area.
“Er…it’s for the next scene,” the stage manager mumbled. “We need it by the entryway.”
“Well, it’s in my way, damn it! So move it!”
“God, what an asshole,” my castmate growled.
“You’re telling me?” I laughed. “I have to live with him.”
He slowly pushed himself forward once more. The wheels creaked and lost traction on the ice beneath his iron wheelchair. He couldn’t remember the last time his feet had touched the cold ground. His muscles had probably become to weak to support even his withered body.
The child pushed hard against the wheelchair and suddenly it began to move. The wheels groaned and creaked to life as they turned, heading for the open door at the end of the hall. Each spin of the wheels it gained speed, rushing footrest first along the tiled floor. The child watched in stunned silence as the wheelchair turned itself around the corner past the door. The wheelchair raced ever faster until it reached the stairwell where it abruptly halted, wheels unable to carry it safely down the tall cracked stairs.
His deep blue eyes looks into the distance. I’m not sure if he sees the world now – the beautiful seascape in front of him, or if he was looking deep into his past; his future. He purses his lips thinly, turns his wheelchair and beckons me. Time to go home.
When I see someone in a wheelchair the first thought that comes to my mind is “look at them as you would anyone else”. I imagine people subjected to life in a wheelchair would get tired of being looked at with sympathy, so I make every effort not to do that. The irony of that thought process is the very next thought that pops into my head is “could they tell that my normal look was forced?” If so, then what was the point of making so much effort to avoid the sympathetic look. Afterall, the sympathetic look would have been genuine. Clearly, I am an overthinker, and believe that I am the center of the universe. The person in the wheelchair may not have noticed me, or the glance that I gave them as we passed one another. Afterall, I am the majority – not the minority. The person in the wheelchair is the minority in a typical public setting, so they couldn’t possibly notice the glances they receive from every person that notices them. Does every person notice them? Being the minority in any way has to be hard….doesn’t it?
I walked past the large glass door which I was sure needed to be cleaned up, and walked straight to the woman with a nice smile waiting at the other side of the counter. “Good morning.” She grinned widely, but I could only pay attention to the wheelchair forgotten on the corner of the room. “I’m here to see Mr. Delaware.” I muttered, although the pitiful look she gave me had chills creeping down my spine.
mobility, disabled, abled, helpful, chair on wheels, access, sad, happy, ramps, everyone should be aware.
She never thought it would come to this. The last thing she remembered was taking a left turn onto the road leading past her house. Then she woke up to this. They said she would recover, but she would never walk again. The rest of her life, in a wheelchair.
Illness, being handicapped is not an excuse to do bad things or never succeed. It is an inspiration to do the opposite. There are so many people that are handicapped, some even in a wheelchair does work. They are an inspiration for everybody.
Instead of teasing them, look at the perseverance and determination that they do to succeed.
Not like other people who doesn’t.
There wasn’t a ramp. No polite “well, we hate that you’re stuck like that, but let us try to help you out a bit.” No, that’d be way too much to ask for. There were stairs. Bunches and bunches of stairs.
It sounded pathetic in my own ears “Well, I tried to meet you, but I couldn’t get up the stairs so I just waited down here.”
you could move. they said you couldn’t, yet your fingers played with the pattern of the rain, you lips could form the most amazing words any of the nurses had heard and your smile could lift the entire ceiling off the hospital.
i told this to all of them and although they kept smiling a polite professional smile, i saw a glimpse of your joy in their eyes
Sarah screamed and beat her hands against the cold leather arm rests. Her hair was lank and dirty, her eyes wild and crusty. She looked like misery personified. Her skin was pale and waxy, with red scratch marks marring her entire body. The clothes she once wore had disintegrated into rags. Her wailing ceased suddenly and her body fell slack in the silver chair.
The wheelchair was a solid weight beneath her, wheels bent slightly from the beating she had given them, stubbornly still now despite her desperate need to continue moving forward.
Squeak
Squeak
Squeak.
“Darn it!” Exclaimed Grandma as she wheeled her wheelchair through the garden. I looked up from my kneeling position amongst the petunias to see her shake her head and push harder on the wheels that had been her legs for the last decade. “Is it time to get a new wheelchair already, Gran?”
The abandoned wheelchair sits at the end of the long hallway. A single flickering light shining down upon its once sparkling chrome. Now it sits forgotten and dilapidated. The heart covered in dust and grime still beats a mournful song. She breathes in and is filled with anguish. Her love long since been gone. Rusty, creaking, and broken. The patient still waits. None sense strung together with spiderwebs and paper clips. I leave them. No one looks for them any longer anyways.
disabled mobility trapped dead no life gone
Wheelchairs are helpful for older people or if you are imobile in some way. They typically come i the color black, but maybe they need new designers because it’s such a depressing color.
Wheelchairs also make it difficult for persons to use stairs, & will ne
She slowly wheeled her way out of the door and into the light, not knowing what was just ahead. She had no reason to leave behind everything, but she had a feeling she had to. She kept going, not knowing. Not knowing. As she went through the light she suddenly knew and everything was alright.
Four months ago, her mom would have stopped at my register, we would have had a nice chat, and it would have been a break in my otherwise monotonous shift. But things have changed. Her boyfriend beams as her mom says something funny. I feel her cart push past me, wait for the hello, and instead, feel the wrath of silence. I gaze blankly at the customer’s jacket in front of me. I’m nowhere near here now, floating away in that grocery cart, a wheelchair for all of my fractured feelings.
harry is disabled. he can’t walk. but louis can. and louis is always there for harry. he always was and always will be. since the met in kindergarten about 15 years ago. he will always be there to push harry around in his wheelchair. he will always be there when harry needs him.
I nearly tripped over the wheelchair. How ironic it would have been, jogging down the highstreet only to be sent flying by some poor soul cradled in his only means of transport. One moment the picture of healthy living, the next a crumpled heap on the pavement.
harry is disabled. he can’t walk. but louis is there. he always was, always is and always will be. he will always push harry’s wheelchair around when harry needs him. he will always care.