What It Must Be Like

I wonder what it must be like to sit atop the handlebars of your best friend’s bike. I wonder what it’s like to drive a car, and to stand, looking at the stars. I wonder how it feels to swim in a pool, The blue water, oh so cool. I wonder what it’s like to kick a soccer ball into a goal, Or to even dig a hole. These must all be normal activities for you, But none of which to me, are true. I cannot stand, I cannot walk, People look at me strangely, just when I talk. My mind works fine, I’m the same as you, Still, people think I don’t have a clue. I see them staring, their eyes stuck on me like glue, They’re glad they’re not me, I can see. They say they can relate, but I know it’s all fake. Nobody understands without living it, My life has to be planned out, bit by bit. Just once, I’d like to do something spontaneous, But being carefree is something I am not allowed to be. Yes, it’s true; I don’t have the same abilities as many of you, And some of the things you are, I can never be. I watch in my wheelchair from far away, and I look to the sky, and say, Why me?