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A Poem To Those Who Don't Accept My Tics

People say it’s a disorder

Like something in me’s out of order,

They want to banish it out of me,

But why can’t they just try to see?

They see it like the spawn of satan,

Is the one making me twitch,

But what we really need to straighten,

Is the fact that it’s not just a glitch.

This ‘glitch’ they speak of helps me,

Why can’t I just tic free?

Why can’t we just accept this unique form of diversity?

They want me to be ‘fixed’,

As if loving me and having tics can’t be mixed,

They want me to be ‘normal’,

As if I constantly have to be formal,

But can they imagine,

How boring that would be?

They may not know the strength it took,

To accept myself as I am,

But they look at me like I’m some sort of crook,

Who just couldn’t give a damn.

I refuse to make them comfortable,

In their ableism,

I’m ungovernable.

They must love me as I am,

If they truly love me like they say.

Do they love me as I am,

Or just as they desire me to be?

I want to be free,

Not from my ‘disorder’,

But free to be me,

They were out of order.

Why won’t they just accept me?

Why should I have to change?

Why can't I just be loved,

With my condition all the same?

I refuse to be ‘cured’

Just to be seen as ‘acceptable’.

The fact that I'm disabled is in no way,


I'm at a spot where I can say,

"I accept myself as I am",

Every single ticcing day,

The problem wasn't me,

The problem was your judgement,

That's what's truly unacceptable,

The judgement is the problem,

It was never really me.

By Romy. W (Ticcers Unite)


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