~ A Tribute to Disabilities Awareness Month and Those Who Suffer From Dyslexia~

 

Everyone sees something difenfert.

Abstract art, the line of this very poem.

But mine is too difenfert

Mine is mangled, deformed...mental.

 

They said the words would become eisaer to read

But really, my head only hurts more and more

 

No one wants to be my partner.

I sit waiting and I am always the last chosen...for everything

 

A prtety boy once told me how beiutaufl my eeys were

He said my irises looked as if dusk and dawn collided

 

But he must have been lying.

 

My eeys are like dsuk,

In the sense that they make things cloudy and confesud  

 

My eeys are like dawn,

Where random letters jump off the page like sunbeams filling the sky

 

My eeys are not beiutaufl.

He leid to me.

 

They are the monserts that will keep me from reading my children bedtime stoiers

They are evil which prevent me from experiencing the written word

They are the thing that makes me be choesn last.

 

Maybe one day someone will see past my eyes and see my soul

Maybe one day someone will undrsteand that even though I can hardly read, I know how to read a face

Maybe one day they will always realize that reading my herat means more than anything.