From a young age I tried to fit in, Observing those around me from where i was sitting. Taking in their smiles, jokes and body language, Learning this social code which they use to their advantage. My manual is not the same,written entirely for me but I have not read it properly. Navigating a world where I copy to survive, Forver wondering if I sustain this will I learn to thrive? I have become a result of continuous masking, In social situations I feel like I am drowning. Living in a world which does not feel for me,all I can do is write about my isolation in poetry.
Everyone else has gone home I watch the waves and wait for the taxi cab. Desperately clinging to my thank yous and sorrys I burrow myself in them, like a scared, lost kitten. Always needing. Forced to be the Chameleon, how could I know anything else? God can only judge me, if he can find me. I keep making gods out of people. Stop. Stop. Stop. I hold off until I can’t. Nail me by my feet and by my hands something inside of me craves to be crucified. Guilt has been woven into my body, by hands as old as exodus. To the Chameleon, this is what it is to be held. This feels like home. This, right here, is my everlasting. Thank you, I’m sorry.
I watch them talk, express, emote Studying every movement, every smile, I take note Compiling the data in an organized fashion Psychology books I devour with an unbridled passion Putting on a mask like I’m at a masquerade Underneath lies a little girl, alone in a big arcade Practising my laugh in front of a mirror Wiping away tears just to see it clearer Searching “how to identify sarcasm” late into the night Sore, tired eyes from my phone’s bright light Relapsing into tears Ridicule is one of my biggest fears
Why can’t I be like everyone else?
Another poem about masking autism and how it feels.