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Ashwin Kumar Oct 2
You all may think
That autism isn't a big deal
Am I right?
Well, when everything goes your way
You are "normal"
Just like everyone else
But the moment things start to go south
As my therapist would say
The brain chemicals would kick in
And you would be trapped in your own world
Fighting the madness
That threatens to surround you from all sides
In the form of a cacophony of loud noises
Different people shouting different instructions
One phone call after the other
Being assigned multiple tasks at once
The list is endless
Of course, the solution is simple
You just need to embrace your autism, don't you?
True, but it is easier said than done
Especially when you tend to forget things
At the worst possible time
Misread a number of social cues
Fail to detect sarcasm
Say the wrong thing at the wrong time
Crack under the slightest signs of pressure
And last but not the least
End up with labels such as "******" and "absent-minded"
Now, do you finally understand
Why autism is indeed a big deal for me?
Poem about my Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism.
Zywa Sep 5
It's normal to wish

to be special, do you think --


you are that common?
"Monterosso mon amour" (2022, Ilja Leonard Pfeiffer)

Collection "Palace of the Night"
Zywa Jul 24
I'm trying so hard

nót to conform, otherwise --


I would go crazy.
"Hoog en laag springen - Faxen aan Ger #4" ("Like it or not - Faxing Ger #4", 2021, Nicolien Mizee)

Collection "Out of place"
Ashwin Kumar Mar 28
I am different
And have always been
Right from the age of four
Whether it be my fascination for trains
And cement mixers, for some reason
Or my peculiar fear of water
Or my obsession with the number of pages in a newspaper
And last but not the least
Playing cricket with myself

I am different
And have always been
I can't make small talk to save my life
Social cues are like Greek and Latin to me
I understand sarcasm
As much as Voldemort understands love
I keep fiddling with my things
Pens, papers, clothes, hair etc.
My room is as organised
As a typical bachelor's den is
And the list goes on and on

I am different
And have always been
Earlier, this always used to bother me
And make me feel inferior
Especially when people advised me
To improve my verbal communication skills
And body language
However, I have realised now
That they could not have been more wrong
Because I am autistic
And autism is not something that can be cured
Rather, it has to be managed
And thanks to therapy
I have been managing reasonably well
For the last five years or so
Let me repeat
I am different
And have always been
If you have a problem with that
You are welcome to leave
Poem about my being different because of my Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism. There is a Harry Potter reference.
Zywa Feb 26
Quarrels, the little

war at home, my fear of your --


being different.
Collection "The drama"
Ashwin Kumar Apr 2020
Thirty years and counting
Every day, as life goes on
A fiery battle rages
In my mind, heart and soul
Conflicting thoughts and emotions
Wage an unholy war
Armed with a billion weapons
Far more destructive than nuclear bombs
The resulting carnage threatens
A result far worse than a Dementor's Kiss
You know, I never asked for this
I never asked to be born autistic
Of course, it is good to be different
But, does everybody appreciate this difference?
In India, the society judges you
Based on what you speak
However, my mouth is blessed
With an ability to turn
Anything that it touches, into stone
Resulting in decades of social anxiety
If only wishes were horses
I would be in Britain
Where actions speak louder than words
After all, not for nothing
Was King George VI one of the finest rulers
In spite of being born
With the handicap of a speech defect?

Thirty years and counting
Everybody seems to like me
Everybody seems to think I'm nice
Up to a point, that is
The moment I dare
To step out of my threshold
The moment I dare
To break codes of conformity
The moment I dare
To question any form of injustice
Is the moment of truth
It is the moment
When everybody shows their true colours
It is the moment
I stop being nice
Instead; I am angry, disturbed, jealous
Naive, immature, unreliable
Confused, weird, crazy
And the list goes on and on
With no end in sight

Thirty years and counting
I have seen enough
I have heard enough
I have felt enough
The time has finally come
For an internal independence struggle
Gone are the days
When I was busy being a 'Yes Man'
Now, if you have a problem with me
I can only tell you this
Tomorrow, you may find
A pill of cyanide
In your cup of coffee
Or a cobra in your shoulder bag
Or a bullet in your temple
Or a bomb in your briefcase
The choice is entirely yours, my dears
This poem has a dark ending, and a Harry Potter reference.
Zywa Sep 2019
When I paint my face
I don't become a clown or a Hindu god
but get frightened of myself

I run outside
people move away, they make me feel
that I'm dangerous

it is vibrating in my blood
to the rhythm of the hammers
of the demolition workers behind the fence

In the middle of the city, I am alone
with clenched fists and fire-
breathing curses

no one takes me as I
am, only a policeman stops
me, "Yes, right, I'm okay

it's just paint, I'm almost home
but maybe you happen to know
who I might vote for?"
Collection “Foghorn”
Zywa May 2019
They say I live in a fantasy
they say I need to see my doctor
they say I am troubled

.....Some of them don't like me
.....and I don't like me
.....being that girl

.....who hates to look in the mirror
.....but dresses up to catch your eye
.....who is never afraid

.....to make statements
.....to be stubborn, just
.....to be frank, longing

.....to be submissive
.....and to gain the carnal
.....pleasure of my body

.....Yet I'm drowning
.....while waiting for help –
.....it is arranged for next year

They say I lie to myself
they say I am different
than I feel, and I feel

my cuts
For Siera Mayhew

Collection “Bruises”
Maddie Feb 2016
Here I sit
Between two choices
Between two people
Between two indentities
Looking for a happy ending
In a world divided
As sharp as black and white
To my left
Is what society wants me to be
Smart and respectful
Following the rules
Dressing to impress
safe, but
To my right
Is what I want to be
Dark and edgy
Rebelling
CLoaked in black head to toe
Black rimmed eyes
Loud music blaring
But the thing with black and white
Is that there is a gray area between
With infinite shades
Some wear it on their face
For everyone to see
While they group together
I'm left in wonder
For when I look in the mirror
I am suddenly colorblind
Blinking back at myself
for hours on end
Trying to figure out who I am
Am I more of what I'm trying to be
Or what I should want to be
Maybe I'm a perfect 50/50 mix
That isn't so perfect after all
It's plain and boring
perfectly ordinary
On the left
I would be a fake, and
On the right
I would be a fake
I'm not gonna lie, this is not my favorite poem I've written but I would REALLY LOVE some critiques!!! This is really important to me as a writer, student, and person that I get help on how to improve.
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