Coarse as silk
Rotten as milk
Sour as honey
Useless as money
I only have
Love unto you

In lingerie up on stage
It was a different age
Sultry sighs and bad mullets
It was all rock and roll

A teenage cherry bomb
A girl gone wild
Free to run away
Along a yellow brick path

I see it in the stars
Both cosmic and mortal
I feel it in the air
The world is about the shake
And I'm going to be the earthquake

Vintage as an advantage
Retro and grunge,
Shabby chic,
Whatever you call it

Like an angel, Judgement,
Calls the dead
It will be a resurrection
Singing and crooning,
Triumphant trumpets

So grab your guitars
And some mates
It's time to start a band

Ain’t got nothing to do
At four in the afternoon
But doing nothing
Means everything to me

Lapping around a small town
Makes the town smaller
Highways ain’t scary no more
The speed limits seem limitless

My dad’s CD starts up
In my grandmother’s rack
I sing along to worn out lyrics
This is how it was meant to be played

Twenty bucks of gasoline
In the car’s tank
Petrol station Pepsi Cola
In my tank

My budding freedom
Tastes of lukewarm sugary syrup
And sounds like
Old school rock on new asphalt

Acceptance, not awareness
Red, not blue
Infinity, not a puzzle piece
An autistic person, not a person with autism

A cue
I missed
A clue
I never gave you

Literate
In literature readings, yes,
Literate
In social readings, no,

I misunderstood
I was not rude
You misunderstood
I try not to be rude

I am sorry
I am so sorry
I try not to cry
But your words hurt

...I shouldn't be sorry
This is who I am
A strangely wired brain
Please understand better next time
I swear I will try better next time

The shadow in the dark
The stranger in the night
Footsteps in the grass
Dew disturbed

Wishing, praying,
I am his prey
Hiding and hoping
That he, the predator,
Does not find my naive den

Like a body in a tomb,
I wait for sunlight
To pierce the night
And free me from the darkness

Time is fluid
When you're afraid
Hours are minutes
As you count your blessings
And not your seconds

Does he mean me harm?
Or is he imagined?

My Baby's gone fishing
I hope he catches himself a treat
For us both to eat
And when he comes back home
I'll make him a meal
Of bread and butter