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What It Must Be Like
I wonder what it must be like to sit atop the handlebars of your best friend’s bike.
I wonder what it’s like to drive a car, and to stand, looking at the stars.
I wonder how it feels to swim in a pool,
The blue water, oh so cool.
I wonder what it’s like to kick a soccer ball into a goal,
Or to even dig a hole.
These must all be normal activities for you,
But none of which to me, are true.
I cannot stand, I cannot walk; People look at me strangely, just when I talk.
My mind works fine, I’m the same as you,
Still, people think I don’t have a clue.
I see them staring, their eyes stuck on me like glue;
They’re glad they’re not me, I can see.
They say they can relate, but I know it’s all fake.
Nobody understands, without living it; my life has to be planned out, bit by bit.
Just once, I’d like to do something spontaneous,
But being carefree is something I am not allowed to be.
Yes, it’s true; I don’t have the same abilities as many of you,
And some of the things you are, I can never be.
I watch, in my wheelchair from far away, and I look to the sky, and say,