I’ve never understood your limits. Then I grew up in a home with none. Parents who knew my dyslexia was hereditary. A place where I was told I could do anything. Be anybody I wanted to be. There was always a way.
We played games. To show me ways. Those same games I bring to everyone now.
I’ve no time for your limits. Your rules.
By 4 you made me feel behind. In school I was nobody. While outside I was confident. Quiet. Resourceful me. Creative as can be. By 8 you’d played so many mind games I was starting to show the cracks.
How could you do this to me? How can you still do it to so many? Despite all your limits I achieved. Despite all your damage by 10, I hated books. I was afraid of them. Now I read 60 a year. I write them too.
All your limits for my mind. My vision of the world – you are fools.
Not enough people have my strength of will. My courage. The support to overcome your limits. Because they were never mine.