Karl Stuart Kline
(1.1) Epilepsy is a Dirty Word
There they stand, hats in hand,
Turning their faces to the wall..
No involvement, No absolvement,
They stand and let me fall.
They fear to touch, I ask too much,
My illness could be contagious
I’m touched by the devil, hand of evil,
A “Christian” act would be outrageous..
They’re afraid I’ll fight, afraid I’ll bite
And look at me as if disfigured
They repeat the lies, fear in their eyes,
Believing every tale they’ve heard..
Surprised at first, they fear the worst,
Should I dare to declare myself
Through all the years, they’ve shed no tears,
Just hid me on the closet shelf
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