(pardon the typos)
Introductions of this me....
I could speak of the me which you might know, the me I let carefully allow to show.
I could grace myself with that her that moves in time, that her that swings the weapons of passive aggressive directions into a land mine.
I could tangle you several sticky webs of the lives I have lead, I could build you a boat and send you out to a barren sea with dread.
I could utter memories of cold dark nights left alone with regret, I could sing to you of the exceeded expectations I bled to have met.
I could place you on the snowmobile that rammed the tree when I was eight, the one that wasn't steered by the drunken father given to me by fate.
I could bring you to an isolating guilt inspired by my dinner, perhaps entrap you briefly in how an apple might make me feel a sinner.
I could share a brief moment of chaos after laundry, dishes, children, work, and more, I could whisper “mommy” to wake you once you've been exhausted to the core.
I could weave you in the scrap yarn used to knit scarves when none else could be bought, I might cook you in the stew made from nothing but the hand me down pot.
I could coax you, persuade you through three natural labours, I could don on your shoulder a baby sling to carry your favours.
I could hush you a lullaby to sing you to sleep, I might stir you a cup of tea to force a quicker steep.
I could place you at the end of such an accomplishment as to fill you with elation, I could leave you in moments of abandon which would overfill your desperation.
I could describe the things I cannot see, or perhaps you might describe them to me?
I could grant you an honours degree, a college diploma and allow you to feel wise, then remind you half the jobs you seek will force you to put your disability in disguise.
I could move your feet to rhythm and show you how much your soul loves to dance, ever so slowly edging away the furniture you're bound to bump as you carelessly prance.
I could attempt to shout “you can't” in your face a zillion times to watch your frustration, daring you endlessly to transform it into a tempting motivation.
I could stop and stare, I could assume you wouldn't care.
I could assign you an unreachable task, just to test the 'ability' you might mask.
I could ..... introduce you to this me, but it's not the one I usually would let you see.
After all, who am I to say who it is that I am? I haven't lived all my days as yet. The me I'd like to introduce is one neither of us has met.