Milo Writes by Milo Wright

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Milo Writes by Milo Wright

14.95

a.k.a. 

Charlotte Wright

Ravi Wright

Allegra Wright

Milo's parents, Cindy and Grant Wright, have pledged all proceeds from book sales to support the arts in downtown Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

 

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Dear Earthlings,

Care Of/Attention—misguided social media commentators, bus seat hoggers, ignorant board of trustees members, inspiration porn consumers, Big Pharma conspirators, and you shitty parents who stare at me but tell your poor, curious, confused children not to, 

sit down.

Shut up.

Give me a moment of your time. 

It has come to my attention that you have never, ever 

talked to a disabled person before

except to tell us how BRAVE we are 

for not shutting ourselves in the house

or to APOLOGIZE that we 

were BORN this way, or better yet

to spout bullshit you learned 

about us from Google and make suggestions 

on how we ought to live our lives

based off of 

FUCKING WIKIPEDIA.

So, Earthlings . . . HELLO. 

I come among you 

in peace. Though I am an odd

malformed creature 

SO unlike you, I mean you no harm. 

I come on behalf 

of my sick and disabled fellows.

Don’t worry. 

I’m used to speaking for ALL of us.

Dear foolish, beautiful, tiresome earthlings

my people see

hear, and 

feel your incrimination 

EVERY DAY! 

You look to us for proof 

your life isn’t so bad 

you paste motivational quotes across our faces 

and hang us on your mind’s wall. 

Hey, at least you’re not 

ANYTHING like me! 

Your spine is straight

all four of your limbs work

and your brain is 100% NORMAL. 

Thank GOD, right? You tell us

you could never do 

what we do . . . smile

hold our head high

shop for groceries

and go on dates

DISABLED? No, you NEVER COULD. 

God gave us this journey and made us special

because we can handle it . . .

well, until we can’t, but that’s not table conversation, is it?

And yet, despite all of this chatter 

about our bravery, you make our lives 

HARDER. Slam doors in our faces

park in our parking places

sit in our designated seats, and 

verbally berate us when we’re moving too slow

or taking up too much space.

And, Dear Earthlings, I feel no shame in explaining 

what you know about us is prepackaged fluff.

No

we’re not exaggerating 

OR faking it, so give us the goddamn bus seat 

before our knees collapse.

Yes

we need these big scary pills and constant doctor visits 

to survive whether your tarot spreads and old gods 

or Jenny McCarthy or Facebook friends 

or whatever agree or not.

No 

you can’t touch our hands, face, cane, OR wheelchair. 

No

it is not our bodies or brains that are a curse

it’s a world that won’t put elevators on a college campus 

because it’s historic, a world that tells us to stop whining 

when we’re in pain, a world that is totally fine with a book 

titled Crippled America displayed in Costco

but not with me reclaiming it and throwing it lovingly in their faces.

Which brings me to my final point

Dear Earthlings, there is nothing BAD about our bodies

or our brains. A big scarlet “D” 

was not tramp-stamped on us 

as fetuses.

If your world learned not to fear us

we would not be reminded daily 

of our constant struggle. 

We COULD live in your world comfortably 

if you let us

but NOOOO . . .

Dear Earthlings, I have been called

ET-phone-home 

more times than I can count

but, Dear Earthlings, accept, for now 

I am a part of your planet.

 Dear Earthlings, let me in.

Sincerely, the subject of your stares and whispers

a heroine

an alleged angel

a freak

a curiosity 

a limp in the leg

a convenient permanent limp hand 

your burden.

Sincerely

Milo, a perpetual Impossibility