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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
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
Ikigai Poet Jul 2019
What you read right now
lies in the visible region of
my soul.
-Ikigai Poet
What you read right now is something I allow you to take a look!
eversoslowly Jun 2019
The depth of the ocean absorbing the color from the sky
the crashing waves like clouds in the ocean

The heart of the forest shedding its green hue to a passing brown
the natural life to death, shared by all living

The core of the flames lashing out with its orange fingers
disrupting, destroying, turning black as night

The vibrant yellow of our sun it's grasp reaching out
both destruction and life in one single entity

The red of our blood coursing through our veins
we bleed it,we shed it, we share it
idiosyncrasy May 2019
Female now,
           I feel it
                      I don't know how
Or if I fit

         I put on a smile
         Twist my hair
                   I change my style
                                    And give off a different air

                Now I'm male
                A distinct feeling
                    No longer scared to fail
         My confidence reeling

I laugh carelessly
Loud and bold
              Everything so freely
               A smile of gold

                              The gender slips away
                                And I am left agender
                              My feelings sway
                                                My heart and soul so tender

                                                I go about in a quiet way
                                            The scenery I'm drinking
                               Throughout the day
                                        Feeling and thinking             

             Both rush back
          At the same time
           It feels like an attack
     Like a serious crime

             I can't decide what to do
       A wild aura erupts
                         I jeer and laugh right on cue
                        My sense of self corrupt

                          It's called genderfluid
              I'm not confused
                 I decide to keep it hid
                 Because for it I'd be abused

              My soul is not content
            Living in one way
                      It needs more extent
                                         And leave behind the cliche
genderfluid
as
         ****
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