If I wanted to, I have the power to burn the world down
If I wanted to, I have the ability to wreak havoc and chaos
I am sadness too far gone to the point where anger is all that is left
I am exhausted
Yet for the first time I am using the anger to become something more
Growing is painful
There are a lot of unanswered questions
Yet I stand here knowing that the world is mine
And everyone who’s doubted me and insulted me, will one day taste their words turned to ashes in their mouths
I am ambition,
I will not be stopped this time
I am coming for everything I deserve and more

At 7 years old, I told my mother,
"You're not my real mom.
You're my Earth mom,
And at night when I'm asleep,
I go back to my home planet."
As the years sped onwards,
I conceptualized myself as a three headed alien,
A Poet From Another Planet,
Acutely aware of my innate differences.
No explanation had I other than being extraterrestrial.
Those around me, too, seemed to sense I was "other."
Playground insults supported by adults who floated labels like
"Lazy," "Difficult," "Rude," "Deliberately Obtuse"
Over my head as if they were a crown,
Signifying I was queen of kingdom "Unlike Us."
No one looked deeper at the poor social skills ,
The rigidity, sensory difficulties, challenges with executive dysfunction.
It was easier to pretend I was in control,
Choosing the route of difficulty and belittlement.
It was only after I nearly succeeded in killing myself
That someone assembled the whole picture.
My story is not unique among women
Born into bodies and brains whose operating system is Autism.
We are the forgotten, the alienated, and plastered with assumptions,
Lost under the blind eye of those who spin tall tales of
"Only straight, white little boys can possibly be autistic!"
Generations of autistic women have known not a name for their difference,
Bogged down under self-loathing, eating disorders, and suicides,
Anything to cope with a world designed to break them
For the differences everyone noticed but no one could see.
Now that women are finally coming onto the scene,
A subtle shift in the awareness that the clinicians, teachers, doctors
Were missing a whole population of autistic people,
Answers are gate kept behind assessments that are thousands of dollars
And diagnosticians who've yet to see the error of their ways.
Peace of mind seems to be a right only of white autistic men
Who are lucky enough to have the "profile" of autism modeled after them.
It took 19 years, two suicide attempts, including 10 days in a coma
For someone to finally "see me,"
And I'm one of the lucky ones.
Answers were finally mine,
But understanding one's own brain should be a human right.
I think we can all agree:
The price of a diagnosis should not be your life.

Nothing goes my way
Everything is wrong
My world is crumbling
This is Hell
Let me leave
My mind is Hell
I'm ready to go
Go where?
Don't let me go insane
I'm scared.

growing up has been holding eulogies
for the people that i used to be
maybe that’s why i’ve been wearing black
since i was bruise kneed and fourteen
when i look in the mirror i don’t
recognize the girl i see but when she
stares back there’s a sort of comfort,
in her hunger pain frame...
grown out of the cracks of the city
like a **** on the sidewalk—
surviving despite being stepped on.

when i was older i knew who i was,
bright eyed and bushy tailed,
bruising my lungs with the songs i’ve sung
in sacrifice for this body is a temple but it
is far from sacred and i am the god to
whom it is devoted.

it’s raining salt like sunday nights,
self doubt and sea water,
everything i could be escapes from my
mouth faster than i can breathe—
i woke up tired seven years ago
and i haven’t recovered since.  

i wear myself like my second best skin,
we are the mask and the wearer
and every me is me
the past is just as infinite as the future
but i’ve been holding eulogies since i was fourteen
and mourning is always harder on monday’s when everything is new but me.

— when i was older

It leaves its handprints on all that I see,
and tarnishes all I touch with poison
Feeds depression like a maggot, to deepen
this cursed mire that is my place to be
It snatches my thoughts away from all glee,
and I wish I would vanish, be hidden
And alone long for a secret Eden,
for a decade it has tormented me

It told me: ”You will never have a hand
to hold, nor starry eyes to madly love
Alone you'll stay, you're too broken, cautious
Your spirit forever burns with my brand,
there will be no olive branch, no sweet dove”
Thus spoke the cold, dead void called Loneliness

There is a killer on the loose who threatens to **** you mentally,

He has no compassion, no love, and no sympathy.

The killer knows no limits on the age of his victims,

He targets anyone who will allow him to afflict them.

He tortures his victims first with words of self hate,

He then moves on to self harm until he knows they are ready to break.

He leaves his victims feeling hopeless, loveless, and ashamed,

He marvels at the thought of his victims taking all the blame.

He speaks words of discouragement, hatred, and negativity,

He holds his victims minds in extreme and harsh captivity.

When his victims try to seek help, He blocks all of their attempts,

He never wants his victims to ever become exempt.

He loves how his victims continue to spread his name,

His name is Depression and He wants more victims to claim.

there was a girl who was tired from working too much.
she pleaded for the work to stop but it just kept coming.
drowning, drowning she felt like she couldn’t even breathe.
sleep didn’t even help her escape the immense responsibilities she had on her shoulders.

they keep coming.
they keep pummeling her.
they keep asking more of her.

she is spending herself.
she is spent.
she is exhausted.
she needs a break.
she needs to rest.

but rest is elusive.
she can’t stop working.
she has to keep on working and keep on going.
staying strong?
what does that even mean.

strength is all she has.
she relies on herself alone.