The Way I Walk

“Why does she
Walk like that?” they say, quietly,
In a harsh whisper, like that
Makes it better
(It doesn’t.)
I might walk
slowly
But I can hear
their words,
even if I wish
I couldn’t.

They whisper
Like how I walk
is 
Scary,
Disgusting,
Morbidly fascinating.

Sometimes, I feel
If I didn’t have legs like this,
I would
Fly
Soar
Never touch the ground.

Instead my legs
Tighten
Spasm
Heavy to lift, my legs are
Made of stone.
My left leg drags
behind me,
My foot interrupting the stride
Of the other.

If I didn’t have legs like this,
I could
Fly
But maybe
Not everyone should fly all the time.
Maybe,
Sometimes,
We are meant to
Fall.

I fall
I break down
I wonder why it matters
How I walk.

I have been told 
so many times
“You don’t look
Handicapped.”
“You don’t look like
there’s anything wrong
With you.”
If that is true,
why?
Why is my walk
Analyzed?
Why are my legs
Noticed,
as if they are
Grotesque,
Horrifying,
Wrong?

I sit between two worlds
Two globes, spinning on 
Their axis,
Not quite different
Enough
But all too different
To fit.
Either way I lean,
I am not
Enough.

“Why does she walk
Like that?” they whisper.
“What is wrong
With you?” they ask, but
It isn’t a question.
I have been branded
Wrong,
And though they wonder 
why,
their questions have already been
answered,
By the way I walk.

They don’t try 
To know anything else.
Their curiosity has been satisfied
By my legs,
My definition
in their minds.

I haven’t even said
A word.
My voice is not
Enough.
Would it matter
what I said?
They have decided
What I am
Without my 
input
Anyway.

Their words—
“What is wrong
with you?”;
“Why does she walk
Like that?”—
Echo every insecurity
Already placed inside my head.

Insecurity pounds on my brain
I look around
For the culprit, but they are
Already gone
So I guess that means
The culprit is me

They walked away
With their
Perfect legs,
Feet that turn outward,
Toes that don’t curl,
Legs that don’t betray them
as they walk.
I walk away, too,
but I might as well have 
Stayed where I was.

Their words
Repeat
Like a drumbeat 
In my mind.
Like a pulse
I can’t drown out
I’m helpless

As I watch them
Walk away,
I realize that
The only way
I can fly—
For now—
is:
My left foot cuts under
My right,
My toes curl
In a death grip
Against the floor;
I’m weightless, for just a split second,
My stomach swoops
I forget everything
For just a second.

But then I slam into the ground
And it’s over.
Back to reality

A reality where my only chance at weightlessness
is falling down.
A reality where
Girls’ comments about 
my legs,
the way I walk,
Brings me to tears.

I pick myself up 
Off the floor
It’s like nothing happened
The only evidence is in my head
Their words repeating
Over and over again.

As I walk
With my limp
I know it’s okay
To be myself, but
I look around and wonder
How many people are looking
At my crooked legs
Judging me,
Defining me
For something over which I 
Have no control,
the way I walk.

I have an answer
Not just for them, but
For me
I am the way I am
I am not 
Defined by my legs
At least,
I don’t want to be.

I have to hear their voices
But would they be willing
To hear mine?

All I can do is
Walk away
Walk away with my
Different legs,
Walk away with my
Legs that betray me
Walk away from their words
Walk toward what is true
Walk toward self-acceptance

I’m on the path less traveled
As their words echo
In my ear
I just have to know
And not define myself
By the way I walk,
No matter what
Other people think
Or say
Or do.

I am not the way I walk,
Despite
Their words.
Despite
My insecurities
One day
I will fly