Pink ‘Penelope Pitstop’ mirror by designer Flavia Brilli, seen here in chill out room, Ministry of Sound Nightclub, London.

In 1981, after years of envisioning images and thinking deeply about myself, I wrote this poem. In my late twenties, I was coming of age as I recognized things about myself—about my disabilities—and about what my life would continue to be.

It hurt really badly. Was I ever going to be any different? Would my hand clutch the world like this forever?

I kept asking why? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this body of mine?

This was like seeing a full-length picture of myself, a graphical representation of who I was as a person, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I stared—I studied myself. This was what I looked like. I told myself, “This is who I am—accept it. Love yourself as you are.”

This was the image I saw when I looked at myself.

That image was captured in my memory. Recorded. Imprinted for life. How deeply it took possession in my mind.

I was crushed by what I saw every time. I didn’t move. I was stationary. All I could do was stand there, and learn that I had to embrace myself and accept myself unconditionally.

Paralyzed Little Girl

Seven-year-old little girl,
Paralyzed with cerebral palsy,
Smiling even though
She silently stands alone,

Quietly thinking distant thoughts,
Waiting for an unspoken word
To reveal her shrouded light.

She gazes into the starry
Canopy once more, and solemnly sighs.

I cannot gallop the green fields like others,
Or ride a colorful merry-go-round.

Am I motionless?
Why me?
When I want to touch
The world of delight!

Instead, I
Will clutch
The universe
With my paralyzed left side!