Do we remember John?
He was what we'd call a Simpleton,
Back when we were young.
He stood in his brown cloth coat,
Carried a notepad and a pen,
We suspected he had half a tongue,
Making notes on roadside lawns,
Near every manhole.
John was busy inside his head,
We never got a word he said.
Who was John before John was dead?

Did you know Stanley?
We didn't see him much.
He'd appear in the hood on holidays.
Probably went to New Hope School,
Where he was kept.
Stanley swore a lot,
He threw snot, drooled and spit at us.
We poked fun, and provoked,
Felt blameless,
For Stanley's condition was kept from us.
Segregated,
And not because of colour.

The face and body of a million others
because of the 21st chromosome.
The movements and quirks of a million others
because of a little spectrum.
The testers and medication of a million others
because of a tiny chemical.
Down syndrome. Autism. Diabetes.

The most loving person I know.

I oftentimes realize my inability
To speak outright about my personality
I oftentimes don't know where to start
Which leads to a brain ****
Of catastrophic proportions
And unable to contort my words into sentences
I simply give up, the subject unfinished

Because of this tragic disability in my speech
I feel that my way of expression is weak
And the many things I want to say
About anything in general comes back to stay
In my mind, in my brain, in my train of thought
And entails to derail from the tracks
The entrails staining the grass

But when I get behind a keyboard
My ideas become fluently versed
Almost rehearsed
And I search for a chat
That'll cover a vat
Of subjects at the bat
The words flow from my brain
Through my veins
To my heart
To my arms
And out of my fingers and onto the screen
Where, for once, I can clearly read
What I wanted to say
And smile with glee
As I finally make
My testimony