Hope is fower wheels - twa big yins, n twa wee. Hope is a comfy seat aneath ma bahookie, n it cairies me when ma bones grow wabbit n sair. Hope isny flashy, in fact it’s awfy shoogly, a bit skelly, n a wee bit scuffed aroon the rims. Hope is wit haulds the scunnered footrests thegither, weel that n super glue. Hope is a lifeline, it’s level access n automatic doors, it’s a cushty disabled duffie, it’s an access ramp, n it’s a disabled pairkin spot. Hope is when fowk smile at me n no leuk richt past me, avertin thair een, or bletherin awa tae ma companion whan it wis me wit askt the question. Hope is ma freedom, ma fresh air, meeting ma pals for a coffee, it’s gawn oot oot, birlin aroon in a brent-new frock wae ma bidie-in whan the DJ plays ma fauvourit Run DMC sang.
Hope picked me up whan a wis feart, whan I felt alane, whan a wis nae weel. Whan wan day ma life changed, hope wis there. Tae tak me tae dae ma messages, or jist get oot fir a wee bit, or tae huv a wee nosey roon a gid beukshoap.
Hope is accessible.
Hope is forrit n ayont.
Hope is the wey aheid.
But maist of aw, hope is ma wheelchair.