Today I Will Be Human Again

 

I unhook my fingers from the warm

damp of the clicker,

brush off the residue of the space bar,

remove my irises from the white noise,

the pixels, the square of metal and glass.

Peel my spine from the wood of my chair,

turn off the machine of colour and wires

and learn how to walk again;

how to see again,

how to feel again –

like I once did many years ago.

Before I had grown

and my finger bones could crack,

bend to tentatively touch keys

on an unfeeling pad.

Before the inside of my home

held more adventure to me

than an open sky ever could…

 

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