Tell me it’s okay to be mad when things don’t go the way I want them to.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when people don’t see me and run into my wheelchair.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad because I want to do stairs and I can’t.  

Tell me it’s okay to be mad at the driver of the white truck without handicap stickers or plates to take up the only two handicap spots, leaving us nowhere to park with a safe unloading zone.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad at the receptionist at the doctor’s office for dismissing the driver’s rude and illegal behavior as okay because he was a hired contractor fixing the place.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that my bladder is still a spaz.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that I have lost enough hair to have bald spots.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that I can’t find a cpap mask to fit my bloated head.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that I have troubles remembering things, even small recent things.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad because all the radio stations suck and I can’t find anything to listen to.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when I don’t see my oldest for days and he lives in my basement.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when my neighbor calls for the umpteenth time proclaiming she can’t do dishes today.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad because I am pulling my weight and come home to a mess that makes tornadoes look tame.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that it barfed snow and I am the only one happy about it.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that I am to weak to cook my own breakfast.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when this disease is flaring and it becomes harder for me to sit for a while in the evening.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad because I am sacred.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad at him (Cptn. Schitz) because the novelty has worn off and reality has set in.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when I look in the mirror and cry.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad when people don’t get why I can’t come to their house.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that the only handicap bathroom at school is always to messy for me to use.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad about things I am no longer independent on.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad I am failing art class, even though I am giving it my all.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad that I can’t go out for a nice long walk to just chill.

Tell me it’s okay to be mad.

Just don’t tell me it’s okay to quit.

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I realize all this stuff seems trivial in light of all the big stuff to be mad at in this world. I just need for me to express to myself and be heard that it’s okay for me to be mad about this stuff.

Peace…Out