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Jamie 3d
Now they are concerned about me

Its interesting how much people start to
worry
when you stop putting up a mask.
ash 5d
i drew a few hearts on my bedding
when it was bare without any sheets
perhaps i shouldn't have — it's bad manners,
what you're taught as a toddler to preach in.
but then i wondered —
who would ever notice?
i'd like to mention, the art of noticing.

i went to fetch some groceries.
while returning, without my headphones,
i took notice — and the world seemed to hold me in.
a woman was talking to her husband,
chatting about how the war drills cancelled.
two brothers were playing cricket —
i passed them by and heard the younger say,
"i'll learn to throw well in time if i grew bolder, yeah?"
the older one smiled —
a smile i've done many times — and chuckled.

it's not always the best place to be,
the world i mean — when you wish to fit in.
i'm almost always with my earphones — wired or the other ones,
trying to fade it out: the noise, the surreality, almost all of it.
because it's just so hard to seek the peace i intend to live with.
but then, on a few random days where i feel like the chosen,
everything feels a bit better —
like it's not that bad to be broken?

they function, yes they do —
but i notice the way they lag,
and sometimes choose just not to
show who they are.
so they wear masks:
ones that hide, ones they despise,
and sometimes don’t even realize
until it’s too late — and the mask melts into their skin.

i feel bad sometimes —
this empathy just carries my soul,
brings it to absorb every ounce of pain i can
from the one beside, and the ones i cross.

but on other days like tonight,
i walk, almost free.
there’s good winds, myself carefree.
there’s a lot of work pending —
i won’t deny i’m procrastinating.
but for once i smile,
and i smile at the thought of myself smiling —
for no cause, probably seeming delusional
to the one in passing.

but how do i tell them the moon’s following,
and there’s the hint of wet mud after the evening shower —
the sensation filling up my blood —
and it’s nice for once, easy to exist,
almost easier to fit in.

my thoughts are like string lights,
almost always entangled together.
not one single shines bright —
but sometimes they glow,
like when i'm hit with a current of emotions.
they glow bright, almost enchanting —
and on nights i'm able to sort,
sort through the flickering ones,
the ones that died, and the ones that hold the right light,
i pour them out, let the candle-like wax from my brain transcribe
words and feelings into the right imagery,
hoping it'll make sense by the time i'm done with it.
and this right here is quite one of the examples
of same cord of fairy lights
(i'm to believe i might be magical in all my might).

but then i look around
and see the way they look in return —
and even though i stand out,
stand out in a way the odd one does
in the system of evens —
it’s not the best thing, not the flashiest.

but i continue to walk
with a silent acceptance.
maybe the world is like this.
sometimes i notice the good,
often the bad,
mostly the in-between.

and the greys are a nice position to be in
when the extremes have taken you and thrown you.
for not all magnets hold together —
the like ones just never really go well together.

we're all simply misfits —
and yet the word holds the fits.
so i guess in the end,
we all really do miss the irony of it.
i'll have to rethink, got another to write on and about.
To answer your question,
An essay would be most apt,
I’ll route through the archives, sift through dusty drawers,
Plot the coordinates of where I have been and map out my thoughts.

But first I must know: what do you know?
Can you hold the depth, can you pause to reflect?

And in the moment, you hold my gaze,
The silence swelling,it’s  weight thick,
I am but a deer in the headlights,
Startled, still and blank,

So in answer to your question,
I’m fine.
Is it finally over?
Living in fear
Of those I am supposed to trust
Breaking free of the cage
The latest prophesy reoccurring
I wondered what it meant
Could it just be a change in mindset?

Is it finally over?
Hiding who I truly am
Who WE truly are
Masking
Pretending
To be whole, to be one

Is it finally over?
Fearing we will have to hide forever
Wondering if anyone will ever believe us
Wondering if anyone will ever care

Was it a misunderstanding all along?
Were we isolating ourselves without reason
Believing it will be not different than the other times
Are they finally ready to listen?

Hope is a cruel thing
Please don’t hurt us again
Turns out we didn’t have to hide. They want to talk about it. I’m both petrified and elated. It’s not going to be like I hope it will. It never is. But we’re so, so tired of pretending
Reece Feb 26
Always the cloud,
Blocking out my sun,
Filling me with darkened thoughts,
Never any fun.
Makes me question the point,
Wondering if the struggle is worth the ending.
Always suffering,
For what?
Eventually, the clouds will move on,
My sun will resurface,
I’ll hide my pain behind a smile,
And walk on,
For what am I to do?
This is number two of this little series, I'll try to come up with a more clever name eventually.
i never seem
to be able to

to be able to
be
accepted

to be able to
belong

but
fitting in
is

different than
belonging


molding yourself
Into the
neatly
labelled
boxes
life sets out for us

to fit in


becoming what people want from you

hiding your
true self.
hiding behind a mask

hiding yourself

fitting in.
lil one today
Loke Houbo Nov 2024
As I sleep
My mask grows anew
As I must upkeep
How I am viewed

Throughout the day
It must be worn
I must not sway
Until everyone's gone

As your head grows grimy
As the days keep marching
The mask thickens
The mask brightens

Each day I suffocate
Suffocate in a toxic smile
Suffocate at the remarks
I gasp for air
As the mask wither away in isolation

Crumbling as I touch silence
It falls without delay
Closing in on everyday
And the mask grows bolder
The mask grows thicker
The repeated desperate and exhausting fight to hide off oneself, out of fear and compassion.
アラン Nov 2024
faces

pressed hard against frosted glass
face shapes, indistinct
bleached of expression
distorted by breath condensed

why choose to suffer like that
frozen to the outside of distorting glass
separated by that pane
division you refuse to submit to?

when every smile is unaware
where there are no windows on the soul
who you are a concrete set

I resonate because
on this side too
there is identity, pulse,
that quiet sense of self
pushing harder into the ice
believe some locks
can be unpicked
In 1995 I was diagnosed with Aspergers syndrome, sometimes known as "High Functioning Autism" (I hate that term as it diminishes individuals that are as bright and beautiful as anyone else, but communicate in a different paradigm).  Explaining to someone with whom I had fallen in Love that I had Aspergers, she asked "What is it like?" - I struggled to answer straight away, and in the end wrote this to try to explain.  It is imperfect, but I wanted to communicate not only what it is like, but why I deal with it in the way I do.
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