Before I begin,
I’d just like to say
that if there is something wrong with me,
it wasn’t always this way.
And it didn’t suddenly appear
out of the clear, blue sky one day.
There wasn’t some horrific accident,
it didn’t happen overnight,
nor did I realize that life would be an endless fight.
I don’t even know how to tell you what happened to me.
Although it didn’t “run in the family,”
somehow it spawned from my gene pool randomly.

Well I’m not sick,
at least not in a contagious sort of way.
I don’t aim to preach,
but I’ve got a lot to say.
My condition isn’t cognitive,
my perils aren’t simply day-to-day,
my ailment isn’t all in my head.
It severely retards the movements in my lower legs.
This disease affects my arms, my ears and my eyes.
In fact, sometimes I can’t help seeing red.

Now, I’m not slow,
I just talk that way.
I need people to comprehend,
not just get the gist of what I say.
I know what you’re thinking,
and the answer is no—
I haven’t been drinking.
I know I slur my words sometimes,
so it may seem that way.
Let me put it like this:
don’t be so bold as to ask
what’s the matter with me.
Put it another way,
perhaps a little more delicately.

At least I’m not paralyzed.
The diamonds still shine bright,
they’re just not in high demand.
Don’t expect me to wiggle my big toe.
And – for God’s sake! – find someone else
to lend you a hand.

–Jude Lally,
The View from Down Here
Accents Publishing