My Wheelchair Kid

With a smile so bright

Her red hair was myth

Soft spoken and innocent 

Surgery had not touched her snowy skin

Until it was surgery fifteen

I thought bones were cool

Then I saw them clearly through her smile

Beeping monitors and nurses became her friends

Anesthesia smells gross

Waiting room charis feel awful

Losing her was my nightmare 

My wheelchair kid 

We talked for hours

And I watched her sleep

I made deals with God, Budha, Satan

I had faith in her

Because no matter the scalpel

No matter the scar

No matter the danger

She is my wheelchair kid

And in her eyes, she has the stars 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741