The track

i was strong once,
full of gruff and bravado, 
who walked through the world like it was something to be tamed.

but now—
i hobble, just hobble, 
crashed, stitched and patched, 
the ghost of a dozen surgeons haunting my bones.

still, i walk.
just walk and walk, 
cane tapping the path, breath steady, convincing myself I'm still a man,
ignorant of society in so many ways.

—impact, 
sudden like a car crash.

brutally unexpected.

youth, fast and careless,
legs that had never begged for mercy, arms that had never clung to railings just to stay upright. 
bumps me hard— 
me, a jenga tower of misplaced macho.

the ground is colder than i expected.

one turns back,

"get off the running track, you fucking cripple!"

and then he is gone, legs still carrying him forward,
never backward.

i lay there, cheek pressed to the dirt,
feeling something i had never felt before:

small.

vulnerable.

breakable.

like a man seeing the world from the wrong side of the boots.

it looks different from here,
i never had to notice before.

i knew the fear of many for the first time. 
no longer just intellectual empathy

FSF