Doing nothing
Has always been the alchemy to my soul
To strip me bare
To lift the curtains
At the back of my spirit
Being forced to do nothing
On the other hand
Is always stronger
A detox for my ableism
A check that bounces
Off and onto all my privileges
Not being able to do anything
Now that's the real ticket
The potato peeler to my celery
The boiling pot of lentils,
On my stove
It's everytime
That I have been bed ridden
Immobilised
And sick
That I always come out the other end
Weary, but young
Restless, but in love
BS
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