My reclining wheelchair is like a boat,
surrounded by a sea of upright mammals.
Sometimes the chair feels like a trap, from which I so deeply yearn to be set free.
Yet still, other times it is simply a boat.
And at times, a lingering self-consciousness creeps in reminding me that it requires more horizontal space than an upright mammal.
Sometimes I long for the sea, where mammals dip in and out of waves, stretching their body the long-ways, so easily acquainted with pleasures you cannot always feel if you're always upright.
surrounded by a sea of upright mammals.
Sometimes the chair feels like a trap, from which I so deeply yearn to be set free.
Yet still, other times it is simply a boat.
And at times, a lingering self-consciousness creeps in reminding me that it requires more horizontal space than an upright mammal.
Sometimes I long for the sea, where mammals dip in and out of waves, stretching their body the long-ways, so easily acquainted with pleasures you cannot always feel if you're always upright.
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