I wish my back would learn That it's okay not to hurt. It feels as though a little child Stuffed my muscles tight with dirt. I wish my legs would understand It's a fine thing not to wobble. My productivity and time Vanish quickly as I hobble. It's difficult to be a mind Whose subjects miss the memo. It's a journey, learning to resign And live inside my soul. Yet in these prison bars that bind - In my soul - at last I find I've never felt more whole.
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