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i am starting now
help me teacher i just want
I have traversed untamed landscapes,
Where each step became a dialogue with the earth—
A delicate negotiation of trust and healing.
Roots intertwined with silent, profound stories,
Grounding me in resilience,
Stories of my ****** assault are now embedded in the soil.

Rocks stood silent, bearing witness to the relentless bullying and gaslighting.
Their stillness echoed the weight of those memories and the growth that followed—
Unyielding yet steady, much like the strength I built with every step.

In this journey, I grappled with self-discovery,
Navigating the boundaries of my being,
Especially as an autistic soul in a world that often misunderstood me.
Each struggle revealed new layers of my identity,
As I sought to understand my place amidst the noise.

The weight of expectations felt heavy,
But I learned to carve out spaces where I could breathe.
My peace was no gentle stream;
It was a summit earned through struggle—
Vast, unyielding, and hard-won.

As I ascended this demanding peak,
The view stretched far beyond the horizon,
Revealing landscapes of healing,
Belonging to all who had climbed beside me.
From this vantage point, I saw how our journeys intersected,
Each of us is a testament to perseverance.

I welcomed others not for comfort,
But for their courage,
Those willing to face the rough terrain,
Understanding that climbing meant shouldering the weight
And sharing breaths.

Belonging was not a destination;
It was a connection—a living, breathing understanding.
Our paths twisted and turned,
Yet they ran parallel, rooted in the same soil
Of shared struggle and triumph.

What I learned was this:
We do not belong by walking the same path,
But by the act of walking itself.
By moving, by simply being,
We claimed our place in the world.

Once, I sought familiar steps but found only uncharted terrain.
Now, every trail I walk becomes a bridge to cross.
And with each step, the earth beneath me whispers:
I am not alone.
This powerful poem explores the journey of healing and self-discovery through the metaphor of navigating untamed landscapes. It reflects on the impact of trauma—specifically ****** assault and bullying—on identity, particularly from the perspective of an autistic individual. The imagery of roots and rocks symbolizes resilience and the shared weight of experiences, highlighting that true belonging emerges not from similar paths but from the collective act of moving forward together.
Waves of stain glisten
on my rainbow days

Its as if moonbeams danced
around my torrid dreams
and slapped me into next week

Tattooed ****** images
seeking to find some
god forsaken purpose
constantly playing hide and seek
behind my eyes

The trickles down the water pipe,
we dont recognize their underlying sins
that flows beside us

We don't think of mercy.
We think of wrongful morality.
Turning a page of lust,
we become stripped
of our innocence.

Its a life of unexpected metaphors
seeking countless divisions
inside a cave of infinite darkness

My thoughts caressed
twisted views of my past.
Then I start to realize
maybe they were all true.

Pulling the covers over my head,
basting in my own selflessness,
I cowered within
but in peace
the greatest source of
knowledge ever ignorance
Reece Nov 10
Reece means enthusiasm,
Enthusiasm I rarely feel.
When it comes to most things,
The emotion is fear.
I wonder if it is a coincidence,
Why, I am named this name.
Or if there’s a reason,
Why, I think this way.
For something to entice me,
It better be something really good.
Most things that look like
Fun I don’t like to do
And I get misunderstood.
Sports sounds just awful,
Something I wouldn’t enjoy
I’m not much of a competitor,
They are just a lot of noise.
I don’t say what’s on my mind,
As often as I should, for
Fear of being misunderstood.
But writing, oh writing,
It’s easier to put down
What I think, Me,
Reece Ellison, the anxious
Boy with a world inside his head.
Huh, I guess there is some
Enthusiasm hidden deep down
After all…
Cassandra Nov 7
Life is just a roadtrip. A long one.
I imagine myself driving in a car.
Somewhere unknown.
Somewhere ambiguous.

The path is full of underground tunnels.
They come and they go.
There's broad daylight,
then there's those dark tunnels,
enveloping my car.
The shades keep on alternating.
Light to dark, dark to light.
Crowded traffic to empty roads
loud noises to something quiet

I keep on driving.
Because it's a long way,
sometimes I get motion sickness.
There are moments,
when I'm swinging in and out of existence.

I listen to music on my way.
Sometimes I talk to myself.
all as the light comes and goes,
out the car windows.

I shake and bobble my head,
sometimes I gently hit the steering wheel
Sometimes I stare ahead aimlessly, but
I am always moving constantly

The weather, the place, the happenstance,
the scenery outside the window,
the beautiful, magnificent views
all change with different hues

sometimes I take my head out the window,
when the weather outside feels nice.
With cool winds and soft daylight.
I take my head out and close my eyes

I breathe in and I take the fresh air in,
I breathe in and a smile comes on my face
These moments are my favourite
I take the warmth and light in
with no worries of anything
During this time, most of all,
the journey is beautiful

The roadtrip goes on,
and I drive the car,
sometimes by myself,
other times someone calls shotgun
everything starts to feel like a blur
everything is changing in the long run
ps- I wanted to name the poem something different but I couldn't think of a more honest title that was true to what I think. My views of life keep on changing SO MUCH that they start to feel so unserious. I like to name that "Life and so..."  life- but  lot of casual things together.
Mark Wanless Nov 1
did not know what i
said but i sure enjoyed it
Artur Oct 30
I walk upon the pathless plains,
A stranger to this ancient field.
I see others walking with canes
And I desperately refuse to yield.
I see roses bloom and their
Lovely thorns speak of doom.
Further on I see roses undressed-
Their petals dead,
Carried on by the wind.
I see babes grown and wed,
Snatched from their mother’s loving breast.
And I carry on with my stroll,
Lest I be carried away with the petals,
By the blowing winds.
Then I hear my father’s laugh,
No longer full of heart,
But full of dust,
And a longing makes its nest
Within my ageing soul.
I see a pond ahead
And its waters reflect a face
My mother has not kissed in years.
It all wells up within me;
The fears of childhood past conjure up,
And the knight with the burning sword,
Does not ride out to save me.
A stranger born
Into this strange garden.
I adorn the crown of fools;
Everything I have wished for has come to pass,
And that is my greatest curse.
Can’t I have one more dance?
One ephemeral moment
With the fleeing wilderness
Of youth?
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