Elizebeth Turnquist

Your judgement is yours to keep

I don’t need to act like you deem

And if fighting is the standard

I defy it with my choices

You may think it’s strong to fight

You may think battle is necessary

You may think you know best

I’m happy to defy your expectations

I get to choose my battles

I get to decide what I need

Sometimes my survival is passive

Comfort can be a part of survival

Just because I could doesn’t mean I will

If you think that is “weak sauce”

I will own my weak sauce.

I’d rather be supported in quiet rooms

If you employ me

Don’t mention my health

Even if I speak about it

Don’t ask about progress

Don’t suggest treatment

I can share as much as I want

That doesn’t give you permission

Yes, this dynamic isn’t fair

Because I live in a broken body

And you have power over me

If you feel silenced by me

It’s because of the beeswax

The fact that it isn’t yours

But also it’s the law.

I wasn’t raised to be better

I don’t want to spend my life in bed

This isn’t something I choose

You hear about being in bed

And not having to work

And you feel a moment of envy

But what you want is a vacation

You could use a break and a nap

You want to escape explotation

Because capitolism isn’t fair

But disability isn’t better

Not working means poverty

It means isolation and struggle

You don’t envy chronic illness

You don’t understand not having choices

You can push through a cold

And not end up in pneumonia

You don’t want these deficits

You want a nap and a vacation.

“Don’t make it your personality”

I’m trying not to blame you

For not understanding me

I try to provide metaphors

To explain lived experience

Of life with chronic illness

Because my simple words

Are dismissed as complaints

As if we all have the same life

But we are not the same

When I speak of fatigue

I’m not talking about needing sleep

I’m talking about a lack of recovery

I’m talking about limited energy

That sleep doesn’t refresh

You translate this into your experience

That life is tiring and overwhelming

You belittle through ignorance

I don’t have the energy

To waste being mad at you.

Fighting for our needs

Should be ridiculous

Instead it’s common place

Necessity is monitized

Needs are considered priveledge

A priveledge with a pricetag

Capitalist make money off needs

A rare few get to be comfortable

The rest of us must fight

The struggle becomes expected

Strength becomes required

Life is treated as a battle

And not everyone gets to live.

Individuals can be kind

But put them is a group

And they become a gang

Groupthink brings out the worst

Petty behavior becomes standard

Hating on outsiders is the norm

When in plural, people are bad

And the desire to join in

Can make the best person less so

In plural, people are mean.

I don’t want any person to die

But capitolism emboldens preditors

At what point do I get to see them

Seperate like they see us

As I am prey in the world of money

Should I wish long life on my hunters

Should I give them grace

I’m the face of my servitude

Or can I forgive myself

For wanting monsters to die

For valid anger at exploitation

I try to forgive my petty thoughts

I don’t want them to die

But I do want to remove their power.

For those who don’t have it

Health is not our friend

It isn’t even an enemy

More like an estranged relative

Judgemental and unkind

Judging us on some standard

That we can’t fulfill

Making us feel small

Tricking us into believing

That everyone else is fine

We’re the painful exception

A sore thumb

In a world of thriving fingers.

Most of life is morally neutral

Choosing not to see

The law doesn’t stop discrimination

The letter of the law

Requires reasonable doubt

Hidden things aren’t always provable.

I know better than to trust a man

Particularly a cis white one

They’re used to their priveledge

Their reality is an echo chamber

They expect to be deferred to

They want me to be a good girl

While my nature is iconoclast

They want to fight and win

While I want to survive

I avoid, not looking to confront

I don’t have to engage

Under rules they define

My defiance is silent

My rebellion is on my terms.

I must remove the colonial in me

Must remove misogyny

Don’t want to act like a man

As men are predatory

They choose to ignore priveledge

I’d have to be a bully to fit in

And dismiss delicacy as a joke

I don’t want to be a man

Or to have men’s rights

I want to be a woman

With my own rights

I want all people to be equal

I want priveledge removed

So I must start with myself

Removed priveledge requires loss

In the form of giving back.

They didn’t ask about my insomnia

Sleepless three days after my stroke

They wake you every 4 hours

And don’t close the doors

They asked about food preferences

But couldn’t answer my questions

And kept bringing me food I couldn’t eat

Because I have food allergies

But since it wasn’t anaphylaxis

They didn’t care if I shit my pants

While trapped in a bed after my stroke

They were anoyed when I spoke up

So no sleep and not enough food

Three days after a stroke

In transfer they messed up my meds

So I was in pain all the next night

Sent entertainment director for complaints

I wasn’t looking for attention

They just couldn’t fix my issues

Their system was broken

And I had the audacity to point it out.

I don’t understand your lack of pain

They speak in platitudes

You can’t defeat a bully on their terms

Most days I don’t hate people

Would you like to be spoken over

I’m not a winner
my hard work hasn’t lead
to some great reward
I’m just getting by

I haven’t been blessed
by easy chances or ready success
I’m very aware that life is hard

I don’t have lots of friends
and I’m not easy to know
popularity isn’t something I have
or even something I strive for

I’m terrible at meeting new people
experience has taught me that only a few
won’t blanch when they see the real me

I’m not a pretty girl
you could call me big or bold
but never dainty, graceful, or serene

I’m stuborn and prideful
I might know how to play the game
but I can’t stomach it
so I sit on the sidelines

I won’t give everything
so that everyone will like me
I’d rather like myself

Maybe I am to be pittied
I don’t have that much
just my self respect
people I’d trust with my life
and a passion that drives me

measured against the world
I’m not a winner
some might even go so far
as to call me a loser
but at least I’m a happy loser
instead of a depressed sucess.

Polite society is ridiculous

Don’t talk to me about bootstraps

This is harder than it sounds

Work is presented as not plesant

The social contract doesn’t suggest joy

Work is a pain we must endure

But life is too short to hate

You give a job so much time

Youth, beauty, and health,

You can stun flies with fumes

Your vinegar may be fragrant

But it isn’t exactly attractive

It only captivates other stinkers

Honey is sweet and lasting

It sparkles in the sun

If you dont want enemies

Try to be less mean or cruel

Consider a different fuel

Try fake it til you make it

Even if the cake is inedible

You can still layer it with frosting

It’s not that flies are smart

But they don’t return to bitter.

I don’t owe corporate greed

My sick days are owed to me

They are a part of my liberty

I deserve to rest and recoperate

I’m not stealing from billionaires

By having the common cold

Or needing a mental health day

Or taking care of family

The news tries to spin it

Like sick days are theft

That any lack of productivity

Is a corporate loss

From their mountains of wealth

But that’s pure gasslighting

A spin and twist of the truth

Eugenics and abelist rhetoric

I see past their con

And wonder how anyone buys it.

Let me be the one you respect

Not the one you’d sext

Because I’m past the age

Of being a piece of ass

I’m old enough to be a friend

Glad to let the shine wane

I don’t want the polish of new

I need to be a colloquial term

Deem me your “Ol’ girl”

A term of sexless endearment

Removed from sex appeal.

Men don’t want wide ass attitude

I’m supposed to be gracious

Understanding and forgiving

Of my oppressors

Because they are human

Because they don’t know better

And me questioning their actions

Doesn’t fit their narrative

I’m supposed to be nice

And play the game silently

While they demean me

While they ignore my needs

Because speaking up is rude

Being loud is unseemly

And when they pile my plate full

I’m supposed to smile at the shit

The steaming pile they give to me

And act like I’m eager to eat it.

There are two types of hypochondriac

Being miserable is normal

I pass as able-bodied

Be yourself isn’t always good advice