By Tre Ventour Poetry

I remember my schoolteacher

saying “even my daughter isn’t this thick”

turns out that I was nine years old

and I was just dyspraxic

that it took me a bit longer just to process in my mind

sat on information simmering in brine

even now, the fact I’m 25 and take longer to do some things

than everyone else still feels offensive

because we live in a world where everything is fast

and even to find the words when I’m being asked

the most basic of questions, I stumble into silence

to get the words out is still a task wrapped in violence

my mind to mouth stammer — a glitch — the slight pauses

that felt like thousands of race horses

charging at this nine-year-old boy, scared stock still

living with a disability that I guess is invisible

something that impacts preparing meals and getting dressed

and even though I learned to play chess

it impeded my ability to grasp small objects

deal with emotions and function in social situations

I remember as a teen going to the train station

by myself for the first time, and it shouldn’t be a big deal

but dyspraxia impacts time management and organisation skills

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