Blind Side

Blind Side

The blind side of me wants to know about the shapes, colors and forms of the world.

The blind side of me is curious about the warmth of reds and the coolness of blues.

The blind side of me is curious about the sublimity of sunsets and the majesty of skyscrapers and mountain tops.

I’ve learned how to survive with my blindness. I’ve learned how to survive by touch and by feel.

I’ve learned how to survive without knowing about all the shapes, colors and forms of the world.

I’ve learned how to survive in ignorance of the warmth of reds and the coolness of blues.

My blindness is curious but weak.

My blindness is too afraid of being overwhelmed by all the shapes, colors and forms of the world.

So my blindness makes excuses for keeping me comfortably blind.

My blindness makes excuses for remaining what it is.

To be real, it’s not easy being blind. It’s damned hard. But I’ve learned how to adapt. I’ve learned how to navigate the streets with my stick. I’ve learned how and where to beg with my blind man’s sign. Sometimes, in order to eat, I must beg in the rain. Sometimes I must beg in the cold. Sometimes I must beg in the sweltering, city summer heat.

The blind side of me has worked hard to find ways and means for my survival as a man who cannot see.

The blind side of me feels threated by all the forms, shapes and colors of the world.

The blind side of me is afraid of how it will survive in a world of forms, shapes and colors when all it knows of the world is what it feels.