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Those who
Withstand the darkness
Could gaze the Moon
Even better

Thus
Whenever
There is
Imperfection

Make it ART
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Mark those words
wes parham Nov 2021
I see a solid object, in my mind,
Grasped by a phantom human hand,
Explored to distract, or pass the time,
Every day carry to a distant land.
Fidget, spin, or brass fitting held,
A soothing reminder, dense and cool.
Carried with me,
Compulsively,
In the pockets of a child,
Or maybe,
A fool.


It escapes,
Irretrievable,
                                   Time.
oh, the **** in my pockets, ha!
Read here by the author...
https://soundcloud.com/warmphase/solid-objects
Bethany Collery Mar 2021
A line to define us is what you imagine,
When you hear the words,
Autism Spectrum Disorder,
It generally happens.

You place us in order,
Based on our physical representation,
And here come the words that I must slaughter,
Before you draw this misrepresentation.

We are not,
The terms ‘high functioning’,
Or ‘low functioning’,
In fact this is actually quite impolite.
To give a more representable label,
Please use the terms,
Severe Autism,
Moderate,
Or mild.

Every autistic person,
Has a different set of strengths and needs,
So do not presume the ‘functioning’ term,
As it tends to arrange and mistreat,
Every autistic person,
Who experiences challenges,
In different versions.

With these terms,
We have created the gap between neurotypicals and the autistic on our own.
When after all,
A better understanding is all we need to be realistic,
Because we all share the same bones.

So, no two people you meet with autism,
Are categorically the same.
We are a spectrum of many beautiful colours,
And we are all here to play the same game.
There are multiple areas where we can succeed,
And just like you,
Others, where we are not so great.
- Bethany Collery -
@poetry.bethanycollery on IG
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2020
Let's get precise
Don't judge me
With my Introvert profile
It's what I find comfort with
I hold Masters degree
In Silence
And PhD
In Voice
Post Doc will be completed
Next June
In Whispers

This is what
All about
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Flexibility
Kitten Yvad May 2020
We both saw a flurry of lilac
Maybe same day, wildly different feelings
in our hearts

We both wrote poems about
Jacaranda Trees, I named mine Jacaranda wild
You named yours every
sensation
I felt
blooming
in the sleepy bedroom town
all green, all home, wholly my own
where maybe
I first bloomed

We both wrote poems about
Jacaranda Trees and you dialed
and it rung

"Habibi", you would say softly
"I wrote a poem". I want to hear it
And its every softness of my childhood

I can see your emerald eyes
Seeing what I'm seeing
heart beating, feeling it all
differently


We share dreams in verses
you weave the revolution
cryptically into my heartstrings
you tell me in poetry
you tell me sweetthings

"Ya Sattar, thats wonderful,
Ca n I hear it?"
ya sattar- my little starling, habibi-my beloved; Arabic
No one Apr 2020
red



The first color in art.

The beginning of a rainbow;

the color pushed out of your heart.



The color of a husky voice and bare legs.

It fills the mind, washing away doubts

and slowly drips onto innocence like tears on the floor.

It is sweat off an old man's brow; it is calloused hands.



It is the taste of your addicting lips.

It is Maria Brink's voice; it is the way 'fruchtfleisch' sounds.
Red is bold, but soft. It speeds up heartbeats.

Red is the beginning of us.

But red is also seeping out a hollow chest.



orange



A difficult color to understand.

One that means organized in the most chaotic manner.

It is dogs barking and it is the sharp and rocky sand.



Orange is your fingers after staying in the water too long.

Orange is the feeling of relief when you've finished all your work.

It is the drunk man's slurred words,

and it is the toxic smell that exudes out of him.



It is a fresh washed blanket, or a pillow without a cover.

Orange is Gymnopédies, No. 1, Lent et douloureux

or Études, Op. 10: No. 12 in C Minor.
It is a storm washing away the chalk on your driveway.

Orange is watered-down coffee on a Saturday afternoon.

Orange is the start to something more.



yellow



Yellow is a tentative smile and long hair.

It is the sky at 3 in the morning.

It is a hot day in summer, biting into a pear.



Yellow is a young girl wishing on a shooting star.

It is a soft voice, but meaningful words.

Yellow are too-big shoes; it is stepping into a puddle of mud.

Yellow is not knowing where the other sock to the pair is.



Painting thick paint over a canvas,

and listening to the song Paris by 1975.

Yellow is a run-down house by the edge of a forest.

Yellow is alluring, yet revolting. 

Yellow is banana splits and ripe strawberries.



green



Green is communication, or the middle grounds.

It is a peaceful lake near a volcano.

Green is being alive, and is the way fire sounds.



Green is the smell of an old book; it is a book that takes too long to read.

It is the smell of nail polish remover.

Green is red solo cups and red stains over furniture.

It is the warm air before a storm.



Green is singing the note C while someone is singing G.

It is the tingle you feel after putting on mint chapstick.

It is feeling like your melting into someone's arms.

Green brings life, but it is the most deadly thing out there.



blue



Blue is the match burning out too sickly and burning you.

Blue is a cigarette and the ashes of an unsent love letter.

It is your side of the bed being cold; it is having the flu.



Blue are arms pulling me in deeper.

Blue is the smell of candles; it is watering your houseplants.

It is a soft cat's tail rubbing against your face.

It is the giggles and the claws dug into your skin after it gets scared.



Blue is Empty Bed by Cavetown playing on repeat. 

It is running your hand down hair and connecting the constellations on your back.

Blue is two girls sleeping over, but instead of sleeping they're whispering.

Blue is driving your car too fast; you feel free.

Blue is accepting it's okay to be alone. Blue is ****** knuckles.



purple



Purple is home.

Purple is the sound of a crowded street

Or the feeling of the ocean on your feet; the foam.



Purple is the sound your pencil makes on paper

It is the feeling of taking the first bite of a warm cookie.

Purple is the smell of roses; you are purple.

My purple is Hey Jude by the Beatles.



Purple is looking in a mirror; it is open drawers.

Purple is your feet brushing up against mine under the table.

It is your favorite song playing until you can't stand it.

Purple is the last color in a rainbow.

But purple is anything but the end.

Purple is the start to a brand new beginning.
Sasha Ranganath Apr 2020
you are electric blue,
charged up,
wreaking havoc like there's no tomorrow.

you are fiery red,
up in flames,
resisting change,
can't keep a straight face.

you are blood orange,
smiling through the pain,
a cheshire cat stare.

and you are sunset yellow,
soft and kind - the warm embrace of a lover.

you are a stroke of violet,
taking life as it comes,
slow, unwavering.

you are the pink of cheeks that blush,
a slow dance in the kitchen at midnight.

you are starry night black,
flawed and beautiful and eternal.

you are green swiveled into white,
serene, calm, still.

you are the full spectrum.

so do your dance and paint every empty canvas with your palette a different pattern every time -
this is why you are alive.
national poetry writing month day 2: personified colours
Zack Ripley Nov 2019
Every day, I get out of bed
And wait for work so I can stay out of my head.
For 8 to 9 hours a day, I talk to people I barely know.
but it's a big relief because I'm not the star of the show.
When you live life on the autism spectrum, the mind can be a scary place.
You question every decision you make, and just talking to people can make your heart race.
It can make you feel alone. Frustrated. Sad.
But it's not all bad.
People on the spectrum see the world in a way most could never understand.
It's beautiful. And we want you to experience it. That's why we reach out for your hand.
We want to connect.
But it takes a while to learn how.
If you can be patient, when we're ready, we'll show you the world in a different way. I promise it will make you say "wow."
amber Jan 2020
you smile broadly
i can see all of your teeth sparkle
you give me a kiss
and dart out the door
i manage a somber smile
and wonder
why you never ask
if im okay
jonas tate Jan 2020
It's days like these
And girls like her
That make me think I could be okay to stay
Inside my shell.

It's days like these
And boys like him
That make me almost want to stay
To avoid association.
written in November of 2019
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