Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sylvia Fénix Oct 2019
for a long time i felt chained in a basement somewhere
the faces of my captors hidden as i writhed against rusted shackles
they surrounded me with doctors, therapists, all the like
made me feel like there was something wrong with me
hell, maybe there actually might've been
but it wasn't what they were trying to cure

i was furiously dragged away from any chance of success
but not by a diagnosis or approximation
i was bullied into failure by those supposed to care for me
those who tried to "fix" me

they broke me as a child
i died pretty long ago, the candles in my soul
they went out maybe a decade ago
but im still here, trying my best to ignite them again
'cause most people i know havent even lit theirs yet
someone i used to be really close to just found out they're on the spectrum and they arent taking it too well
i really doubt they'll see this, but on the offchance: its not going to stop you, trust me

you're a talented ******* with more going on in that head than 95% of the dull ******* that will ever tell you that you won't amount to anythnig.

you wont disintegrate, you aren't stunted and you aren't a ****** savant, you're a **** good writer, an amazing artist and one of the most switched-on people ive ever met. we're just playing this ****** ******* game on a higher difficulty, bigger risk bigger reward yknow
poe Sep 2019
people always told me to hold onto the spark but it only ever got me in trouble
neurosis crawling up my spine and stunting the growth just below my neck

I am stunted, those boys in baggy school blazers and leather shoes will grow into men and I've barely got an inch on them

a savant of sorts, sure, but I'm not a child anymore
my ways hold me back; my ways hold me down

the spark I was told to to hold on ever so tightly, it hurts peoples eyes and burns their fingertips

I will not grow
I will only die down and submit to
the natural elements

disintegrate along with the vapour of the candle when it burns out
I have a developmental disability. I never thought it held me back. but I feel as though I was wrong.
nja Jan 2019
She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.
My grandmother is a withering icon.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
I don't fear personal growth.

In growth, I feel like I can find
my stability.

What I fear is being stunted.
Forgotten in the soil
never basking in
the light.
All I want from my life is stability.
All I want is to find some form of peace.
I've cut out alot of toxic peop!e, friend and family but still, they persist in coming back and making things harder than need be.
But I will go on. I will thrive. I will succeed in this life.
No matter what anyone says.

Be back soon,
Lyn x
I kept my feelings locked up,
In letters.
Imprisoned by words.
Controlled by a choked up pen and a tear stained page.
Because I was afraid
I was afraid.
What others might think.
What others might say.
What others might not say.

In reflection,
My life was lived through fear.
Ruled by a tyrant with an iron fist.
But anyone can acknowledge
Their mistake.
How was I to move past fear?
To scale the walls that had protected me.
Made of bricks that I laid myself.
That I mortared together with animus
To keep everything out
To keep me safe.

But I started my ascent
Climbing brick by brick.
Passing one scribed with "Sarcasm"
Another etched with "Solitude"
And as I progressed
I passed others named,
"Laughter," "Humor," and "Feigned Interest."
Each one placed by my hands.
Each one now beneath me.
As I reached the summit of my wall.

Now was the difficulty.
Now this was my decision.
Pressure resting on me.
The effort it had taken to scale this brick fortress.
Was it in vain?
Had I wasted my energy.
Would I return
To the existence I had created?

Would I
Take Flight?
And soar to the ground,
With wings feathered with bravery and guile,
Vibrant in color and life.
Embracing both the sun and the rain.
Instead of passing on sunlight to avoid the possibility of precipitation.
All or nothing,
I told myself.
"If the definition of insanity is proceeding down the same road expecting different scenery,
You need to
Samuel Alexander Mar 2015
True to my nature I ****** up,
I gave in to my lesser desires, I gave up common sense.
I gave to the tide,
I went under.

As though in quicksand I sunk,
Death throes.
I'm grasping at straws,
At snapped telephone wires,
Pulse distortion,
Just a touch away,
It's beckoning,
And oh so appealing.

What I wouldn't do for a little peace of mind.
Isn't it?
The attraction of interaction,
The constant presence or lack there of,
The desire, the distance...

Unsure of my footing I falter,
A newborn lamb, learning to hold it's own weight,
An adolescent, still learning.
Where did I go wrong?
How do I go right?
What option have I left?

Forever fearful,
Of what's beneath the bed,
Of what's in my head.

Are you leaving?

There's not much left to leave,
Running out of patience,
Nowhere to go,
Can't stop,
Can't stand,

You are a sore thumb,
Pressed hard against my eye,
You blind me,
Unique in your affect,
Your image,
Thoughts of you linger,
Ink stained fingers brush my eyelids,
And ink stains them still,
I see you in my sleep...

There aren't enough crystals in the world to cleanse this mind,
Nor enough bandages to keep the skin on these knuckles,
There isn't enough sugar to hide the bitter taste in this mouth,
There isn't enough,
This life is lacking...
A life sheltered and coddled,
A course of cowardice followed,
While the doldrums of yesterday
Are likely to echo tomorrow....

This cycle of idleness must be broken.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

Originally written 3/13/14
Revised in 2014

— The End —