A few years ago, I wrote this poem about how your reality could be so different depending on your place of birth or state of health. Your present experience of reality depends on what "patch" of this earth you happen to be on.
Could have been that frightened girl
squinting under drapes of sand.
Could have been that beaten mother
cradling child's simmering brow.
Could have been that lonely invalid
choking for breath in a damp ward.
My carefree eyes of privilege
scan horizon for a parking space.