And then the brain chemist spilled
An entire bottle of hypomania
Into the *** of depression.
Hell has many names.

My greatest wish
Is that one day someone will love me,
Not for what I can give them,
But because I have intrinsic value myself.
My greatest wish is that one day
My story will not be too much
But just the right amount
Of ME.

The moment she says,
"Me too,"
The air evaporates from my chest.
My shoulders slump.
The weariness eases.
Sometimes connection
Is the best medicine.
I tell her she's found a friend in me.

Sometimes,
I see the image of you in your white night gown,
Back at rigid attention as you binge watched
The same TV show for the second time that week,
So little life in you despite your posture.
I'm reminded of that terrible nagging feeling
That I really should turn around and walk back in,
Say something new and better,
Hug you tighter,
But I am late to the airport,
So I don't.
A month and a half later,
You were gone.
How I really wish
I'd missed my plane that day.

Death is not pretty.
Death is not brave,
Death is not freedom
Or grace
Or clarity
Or glorious.
Death is lonely,
Undignified,  
And vastly disappointing.
I do not recommend you try it.

Them:
"You don't look Autistic."
"Wow, you must be really high functioning!"
"My friend has kids with Autism, and you don't behave anything like them."
Me:
"Thanks,
The years of bullying and abuse really paid off.
I finally learned never to display my vulnerabilites.
I learnt that others would be ashamed or uncomfortable of my differences,
Try to take advantage of my disability.
I suppose I should thank all those who thought it sport to hurt me,
I now internalize, minimize, conceal
Every difficulty.
I have been taught to sacrifice my own health and well being
For the sake of others ' needs to remain oblivious and prejudiced.
Thank you for reminding me that
All that hardwork and pain was worth it for you,
Who can operate in this public space
Unburdened by my challenges,
Oblivious to my suffering.
As a child,
My skills were less finely honed.
I had not yet developed the craft of invisibility.
One might have guessed me Autistic,
But the assumption was more often
Some combination of naughty and lazy.
Don't pretend to have sympathy for Autistic children when a comment
Clearly shows it wasn't there.
Let's be clear, too.
High function means highly camouflaged,
Easily forgotten,
Lost under the cruelty of others.
It does not mean low difficulty."

I am the pit viper of poetry.
Syllables slam where ignorance lies,
The sound of education
Like fire,
How to lower an ego and raise up humanity.
I am both Lover and Fighter,
Medic and Boxer,
Words like a balm
Designed to soothe the suffering of others.
All pain is shared, easier to bear together,
And yet,
I reserve a specific set of sharp syllabic power
When it comes to defiance of empathic deficiency.
My words will stop a heart in a poet attack,
Locate the seams and examine the crack
To expose what is wrong with society,
Foster a sense of compassionate understanding.
And then, with gentleness,
I invite them to join me.
As a poet,
I have a responsibility to illuminate both the beautiful and
Ugly,
Resuscitate long buried emotions,
Bring love AND prejudice into the open,
And then heal them with human connection.
It is not a small weight to carry,
And so I,
I reserve the right to my fire,
The occasional sharp tongue to cut through the *******,
But then you will find tenderness
To remind everyone:
Even in darkness you are never alone.