Naming My Angels And Demons (A Poem)

justinmartinwrites:

(Hi. I’m Justin Martin. Throughout history, in religions both pagan and Abrahamic, there’s a huge value placed on naming things. Knowing something’s true name is a way of either binding it, in the case of demons, or loving it better, in the case of angels. I thought that, as a disabled person, it’d be helpful for me to name some things before I transition to adulthood.)

NAMING MY ANGELS AND DEMONS

By Justin Martin

To the nights when I’m still up at 3 AM wondering what will happen if my child wants to learn how to throw a football, I name you Ambrose.

To the realization, at an early age, that I would have to learn to open even the heaviest of doors, because nobody would ever bother to turn the buttons on, I name you Andronikos.

To the people who, earnestly and without malice, ask me if I have a penis as casually as old ladies ask to borrow cups of sugar, I name you Arcadius.

To the thankfulness that my penis, unlike the vast majority of my body, is still on speaking terms with me, I name you Aristocles.

To the feeling when you see a little girl playing Dance Dance Revolution at an arcade, simultaneously hating her for not realizing the miracle and loving her for never having to, I name you Arsenios

To the moment when a small cousin is climbing on my wheelchair like a jungle gym and I understand that fear, pity, and shame are all adult inventions, I name you Basilious .

To all of the birthday cakes I’ve barely eaten at the parties I’ve barely been invited to, I name you Cassander.

To all of the mothers who forced their children to invite me anyway, but never forced themselves to consider why their children and their society put me on an island, I name you Cyrus.

To the glorious chocolate drop contained within the three second pause after I make a cripple joke, when the audience considered if their laughter would tan them in the afterlife, I name you Demetrius

To the people who decided to call it “The Special Olympics” instead of “The Olympics That Even NBC Won’t Air”, I name you Draco.

To the Center For Disease Control, who all too often seems to have placed a quarantine on any table I sit at, I name you Euclid.

To the people just insane enough to break the quarantine, I name you Eutropius.

To the years where there was mulch around the swings and slides of the playground, where I learned the value of the people who were more comfortable outside of it, I name you Georgios.

To the six seconds before I drift under a surgical knife, exhaling to draw the border between the times when things happen through me and the time when things happen to me, I name you Herodotus.

To comic books, where it is more likely for someone to be bitten by multiple radioactive spiders than it is for them to live happily while disabled, I name you Homer.

To the little battles for dignity, whose cannon-shots are seen in the eyes of people who hear me sing a stave of music or help me set up a decent spare in bowling, I name you Isidore.

To my doctor, who still asks me if I’m having unprotected sex every time we have an appointment, proving that even medical school can’t kill one’s optimism, I name you Kleopatra.

To the constant dread that takes hold when people ask me what I did this weekend and I remember that most people can fit into their cars, I name you Leonidas.

To the realization that my parents felt worse hearing that than I did writing it, I name you Linus.

To all of the energy I subconsciously devote to not looking spastic, I name you Myron .

To whatever force blessed me with the ability to, when told that God will heal my legs, not respond with “is that before or after he fixes your brain?”, I name you Nikon .

To the fear that I’ll want to go around one more time, less limited, I name you Olympos.

To the peace in knowing that if I don’t live to see a just world, I can make sure that my children do, I name you Philon.

Ambrose, Andronikos, Arcadius, Aristocles, Arsenios, Basilious, Cassander, Cyrus, Demetrius, Draco, Euclid, Eutropius, Georgios, Herodotus, Homer, Isidore, Kleopatra, Leonidas, Linus, Myron, Nikon, Olympos and Philon, I cast you into the arms of my great-grandfathers for the sake of the fathers to come.