I'm many coloured
     and a perfect transcriber
     and transmitter.
I only listen,
And do not interject.
Whatever you say or write,
     I record faithfully.
At times, you may think
I read your mind
While it's in the clouds,
That's autocorrect,
But you push send.

I'm the perfect ear,
The ideal partner.
I'll never willingly repeat
Your heard and spoken secrets.
You're the human.

I was in the first grade
I was sitting down during storytime next to this kid named Michael
I was a normal kid
I chased boys on the playground and I was friends with mostly girls
Who knows what my teacher was reading
I wasn’t paying attention
I was staring at Michael
He was my first crush
I didn't know why I liked him but I did
Something came over me and as he’s intently listening to the story
I turn to him and kissed him
He looks back at me in disgust and thankfully no one saw me do it
I never talked to him again and he moved that next year

I'm in the fifth grade
I'm texting one of my best friends and the time
He just happens to be a guy
He texts me a picture of someone from a game
It's a cute character so I type “ aww he’s cute”
Autocorrect had a different plan for me and changed it to “ aww you're cute”
I started freaking out at what he would say
But he responded with “ your cute too”
We ended up dating and he was my first boyfriend
I loved him and he loved me
We went to the movies together and sat next each other every day on the bus
He bought me candy and a stuffed rabbit for Valentines day
His parents said that he wasn’t allowed to date till he was in high school
So our relationship ended quickly

In my house, we never really talked about dating or sexuality
But occasionally my grandparents talked about a “gay” couple they knew
I didn't know what that meant so one day I looked it up
To my surprise, it meant a guy who is attracted to another guy
And I was confused, I didn't know that this was ok
I didn’t know people felt this way and I started questioning myself
Did I like girls
Did I like guys
I didn’t know anymore and I questioned this for a while
Nobody knew about my build up question that only I could answer
And it started taking over my thoughts
Every girl that I saw I looked away cuz I didn't want to give off the wrong impression
Nobody talked about sexuality
I didn't know anyone who liked the same gender as their own

I was at church
And I was in the sixth grade
I'm sitting next to my friend
She just happens to be a girl
She’s stuttering on her words and is more awkward now
I ask her what’s wrong and she says that she likes me
I start to blush
Her head is in her knees and she's about to cry
I tell her that I like her too  
She lifts up her head to reveal her bright red cheeks
She grabs my face and kisses me
I tell her that I love her and she insists that she loves me more
I liked girls, but I was still confused
How could I like a girl and a guy
I told her about this and she gave me the title BISEXUAL
She gave me a label, I word to finally express how I felt
I still kept these feeling to myself
I didn’t tell anyone and nobody knew about my relationship with her

We broke up and I was depressed
But I was comfortable with myself, comfortable in my skin
I wasn't ashamed of being bisexual and I was shown that it's ok
That's it’s ok to have these feeling
And no I’m not figuring out my sexuality
That’s already figured out
I’m not confused, I’m not desperate
And no I don't like everyone I see so please don’t ask

I’m bisexual
I like girls and guys and everything in between
Gender doesn't matter to me cuz all that matters is personality
Society likes to brainwash people to think that girls like guys and guys like girls
But why
Why must we be confined to the idea that we can’t explore our sexuality
And we can't love who we want to
Let it be said that if God didn't want us this way
He wouldn’t have created us this way
And if God didn't want us to like our own gender
Why did he allow us to

The human vocabulary is vast and complicated,

there are endless possibilities,

but there's a glitch in my system,

for no matter what sentence

is spoken to me

the AutoCorrect of my mind

only lets me hear

that I am not wanted.

misophonia is not getting angry when you hear people breathing or eating. misophonia is 'i'm supposed to feel
stronger because there's a scientific
reason behind all the pain clenched like a fist inside my own body, I'm
supposed to feel better.' that's what doctors say. but the answer is a long list of riddles the doctors can't
decode. 'we know why your heart is
breaking, but we don't know how to
stop it.' misophonia is the maximum number of pills I can hold without dropping any. it's the moment when my doctor says she won't allow me to go to a college more than two hours away. it's the effort to smash my own bones on cement just to drown out the sound of somebody talking about what they had for dinner. it's that autocorrect and spellcheck still don't  recognize it as a word. it's about hearing sounds so menacing and monumental that not a night goes by where they don't swallow me whole. it's the fear of leaving my house and hearing something bad. it's my hands not feeling like hands and everything I try to touch turning into snow. it's having to bring headphones everywhere in case I hear a word I hate. it's my doctor telling me with a sad look on her face that she'd be surprised if I make it to 45 years old. it's having to ask directors if any of my trigger words are in the script before I see a show. it's the knowledge that I'm a quickly ticking time bomb, that it gets worse over time. that I might wake up tomorrow morning not being able to stand the sound of my mother's voice. it's the fact that the most common result of misophonia is self harm but I've made it this far without it. it's my chest igniting every time I hear someone start to talk. (I'm sorry I can't marry you, I can't stand the sound of your voice in the morning). it's simple words that can cause my composure to break like a separation of continents, like all that hurt never meant anything. years of wishing, on my knees, that I was deaf so I could skip the chapters when my whole body feels like a slowly melting candle, like I'm not allowed to be afraid of fire. it's in 9th grade when the bell rang to go home and I was sitting in the back row of English class with my fingers pressed so far into my ears they popped, trembling, until Mrs Gitsis asked someone to take me to the counseling centre. it's not 'ew, I hate the sound of people chewing.' do you lose sleep because the reverberations of that sound won't leave your head? do you have to lock the windows on your second floor to feel safe? it's having to wear gloves in 90 degree weather because I can't see my hands without them. it's waking up at 3am to arms that turn into stumps, unable to go get help because the sound of footsteps makes me want to die. it's reaching for a knife every time somebody says a common word. misophonia is being taken out of school because I can't sit with other kids in the cafeteria. it's hearing clapping after a show that's supposed to be for me transforming into screeching metal tires reverberating around my skull at frequencies i didn't know were possible. it's feeling every nerve ending in my body start to tingle seconds before someone says a trigger word, like god feels bad for all he's done so far and he's trying to send me a sign. it's the fact that most therapists haven't even heard of it. it's the fact that the ones who have don't know a cure. it's that there is no cure. it's when all someone has to do is repeat sentences, words, and phrases they know will break me. it's when my second therapist told me I was making it up. it's when my parents told me I just wanted to boss people around. it's when I started not being able to eat dinner with my family anymore. it's growing up in a household with a parent affected by serious OCD who has to vacuum 24/7 but I can't hear a vacuum or else I'll try to see my pulse from the inside. it's the sadness and anger that clenches itself around my heart like a fist until I feel like the dust I was created from. it's when something as simple as the sound of a drawer closing makes me wish I were dead. it's the knowledge that one day I won't be able to handle feeling like an abandoned building and the volcano inside of my head will erupt. it's the knowledge that I can't get help. I can't ever get help.

This is a mobile poem,
Written from my mobile phone.
Derived from a mobile song.
Developed near a mobile home.

Radio blasts from its mobile ring
Melodies radiate; singers sing
rhyming can be a mobile fling,
So long as you're willing to fight through this autocorrect thing.