Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#neurodiversity
flowing patterns wandering lines open pathways moving in directions unknown to others They call it scattered but I am the organizer of my mind soft shapes unimaginable designs no words can hold their beauty how I have learned to live peacefully inside this scattered mind directions branching into many paths what looks scattered is simply me
0
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 1:19 PM UTC
Scattered
I’m autistic I’m not stupid I’m not awkward I’m not an epidemic I do have feelings I am empathetic I can learn I can create Contrary to what the great poet RFK Jr. proclaimed I can do things on my own I can love I can understand I know how things work Sometimes better than you I can laugh I can cry I get upset I get annoyed These all make me who I am A human An equal It is just sometimes I need support But don't we all at some point So please see me as a human An autistic human And be kind
0
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 11:36 AM UTC
Truth Be Known
There’s a light above me.
 No —
 There are twenty-three lights above me. 
 And I’ve counted every single one,
 Because looking at people’s faces feels like drowning
. And the ceiling is safer.
 Even when it burns. Fluorescent.
 That word sounds too pretty. For what it does to me. It hums. 
It flickers.
 It pulses like it has something to prove.
Like it’s in a fight with my nervous system
 And it’s winning. I am supposed to be learning.
 Taking notes 
 Solving problems.
 But my only equation is this: Flicker + hum + silence = meltdown I’m not allowed to have. Because I am autistic.
 Because I am transmasc. Because I didn’t know I was
 Until 2020 slapped me with a diagnosis
 and said,
 “Hey, here’s your permission slip —
 too late for recess, but just in time to explain the ache.” Before that?
 I was just the weird kid. 
 The quiet one.
 The one who "zones out"
 Because no one could see the war behind my eyes. These lights don’t just glow, They interrogate.
 They pick at the edges of my thoughts.
Like static under my skin.
 Every buzz is a “why can’t you just pay attention?”
 Every flicker is a “Why are you always so dramatic?” They say light is knowledge.
 But this kind of light
 Feels more like punishment. And I sit in classrooms built like cages.
 Every desk is too sharp,
 Every rule is too loud. 
 I stim with my fingers under the table.
 Because above it is performance.
 Because masking is survival. 
 Because I’ve learned how to script my face
 Into something safe for others. But inside,
 My brain is shouting.
 My body is aching.
 My heart is tap-dancing in Morse code.
And nobody reads it. Because of them,
 Fluorescent is normal.
 Expected.
 Unnoticed. But to me,
 It’s a constant scream Dressed up in polite brightness.
 It is the reason I can’t think straight.
 The reason my pen shakes. 
 The reason I leave school
 I feel like I ran a marathon through fog. I try to explain.
 But how do you make them see light as violence 
When does it not bruise?
 How do you explain
 That autistic overstimulation feels like drowning In a room full of air? They say,
 “Well, the other students seem fine.”
 And I want to scream:
 I’m not like the other students. Diagnosed too late to stop the damage,
**** just in time to give it a name. So no—
 I’m not being dramatic.
 I’m being honest.
 I’m being electric.
 I’m being every buzz those lights make
 When no one else is listening. And maybe someday,
 The classrooms will be dimmed.
 The rules will bend.
 The world will stop calling my survival.
 A disruption. Until then,
 I’ll keep counting the lights.
 Not because I want to—
 But because my brain is trying to find
 any pattern
 In a world
 That won’t stop flickering.
0
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 11:38 PM UTC
Fluorescent
There’s a light above me.
 No —
 There are twenty-three lights above me. 
 And I’ve counted every single one,
 Because looking at people’s faces feels like drowning
. And the ceiling is safer.
 Even when it burns. Fluorescent.
 That word sounds too pretty. For what it does to me. It hums. 
It flickers.
 It pulses like it has something to prove.
Like it’s in a fight with my nervous system
 And it’s winning. I am supposed to be learning.
 Taking notes 
 Solving problems.
 But my only equation is this: Flicker + hum + silence = meltdown I’m not allowed to have. Because I am autistic.
 Because I am transmasc. Because I didn’t know I was
 Until 2020 slapped me with a diagnosis
 and said,
 “Hey, here’s your permission slip —
 too late for recess, but just in time to explain the ache.” Before that?
 I was just the weird kid. 
 The quiet one.
 The one who "zones out"
 Because no one could see the war behind my eyes. These lights don’t just glow, They interrogate.
 They pick at the edges of my thoughts.
Like static under my skin.
 Every buzz is a “why can’t you just pay attention?”
 Every flicker is a “Why are you always so dramatic?” They say light is knowledge.
 But this kind of light
 Feels more like punishment. And I sit in classrooms built like cages.
 Every desk is too sharp,
 Every rule is too loud. 
 I stim with my fingers under the table.
 Because above it is performance.
 Because masking is survival. 
 Because I’ve learned how to script my face
 Into something safe for others. But inside,
 My brain is shouting.
 My body is aching.
 My heart is tap-dancing in Morse code.
And nobody reads it. Because of them,
 Fluorescent is normal.
 Expected.
 Unnoticed. But to me,
 It’s a constant scream Dressed up in polite brightness.
 It is the reason I can’t think straight.
 The reason my pen shakes. 
 The reason I leave school
 I feel like I ran a marathon through fog. I try to explain.
 But how do you make them see light as violence 
When does it not bruise?
 How do you explain
 That autistic overstimulation feels like drowning In a room full of air? They say,
 “Well, the other students seem fine.”
 And I want to scream:
 I’m not like the other students. Diagnosed too late to stop the damage,
**** just in time to give it a name. So no—
 I’m not being dramatic.
 I’m being honest.
 I’m being electric.
 I’m being every buzz those lights make
 When no one else is listening. And maybe someday,
 The classrooms will be dimmed.
 The rules will bend.
 The world will stop calling my survival.
 A disruption. Until then,
 I’ll keep counting the lights.
 Not because I want to—
 But because my brain is trying to find
 any pattern
 In a world
 That won’t stop flickering.
Continue reading...
74
Why am I so lonely? I have a lovely gf and doggo too… Is it my lack of true meaning? My existential crisis? My minute family? My lack of clarity? My forgotten dreams? My absent friends? My over-sensitivity? My neurodiversity? …All of the above? Gotta keep moving forward I’ve still got a whole lotta love ❤️
0
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 11:16 AM UTC
Gratitude
I didn't know and I couldn't understand Anything about myself. I couldn't see through and Never had tools, Pitch dark and wandering by stars. I didn't know and I couldn't understand Social rules, quiet cues, or how Became my "muse". An island A shipwreck Adrift at sea I didn't know and I couldn't understand My forsaken longing for true connection, Or what you meant When you said "Stop painstakingly crafting your prose as if you must earn my attention" Scouring Half blind For the unloved part of me. I didn't know and I couldn't understand My desperate diversity. Shackles clattered free with every blackout pour Each line a rush of promises I knew would rot Filled myself to forget nothing was ever there, Expanding the hollow before it even had a name. I didn't know and I couldn't understand I was heaving the empty unknowing alone, An anchor keeping me drowned. With no practice feeling, I stood Petrified to appear the fool, I didn't know and I couldn't understand. After numbing for years I finally learned and finally healed, This quiet apology is not an excuse Only late recognition from my old recluse.
0
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 4:59 PM UTC
I Didn't Know
You think you know because you read something on the internet And your wife’s best friend’s cousin knows someone with it So you have all the answers and cannot be wrong Dave down the pub reckons it is all a scam and really they are just a bit thick And he knows because he is Dave and Dave knows **** especially when seven pints in (God he is ******* funny; what a legend) We are the problem with the world The world that is only for the entrepreneur Not the ones who see through the smokescreen Wanting to give love to everyone, using intimidating genders and pronouns, instead of glorifying the economies of scale But they are the snake oil salespeople So go back to your cave of gossip and rumours; evolution has stalled for you Genuflecting at the feet of those paid influencers who tell you how to live your life with fictitious remedies of being Leaving us to mop up your mess Too ******* stupid, too ******* greedy to save the earth Too ******* stupid, too ******* greedy to end poverty Too ******* stupid, too ******* greedy to accept Too ******* Stupid You Greedy ****
0
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 4:34 AM UTC
Gargoyle
Try harder, it's not that difficult The silence screams internally I am trying to focus, but what does that mean? Stop swaying, you are being inconsiderate this class feels like an eternity Focus. Why can't I just feel seen? Try harder, it's easy for everyone but you You, are fundamentally broken and wrong Why can't you just be like the others? You don't know anything, that's true The beat without a melody, this song Your thoughts are overlapping against another Try harder, for this is an illness This needs to be cured Isolating from your peers But you don't act like the rest Akin, you both are injured Try harder, this disorder of yours is an excuse This apathy towards attention is a trend There was never this sensitivity years back After this plea, I have something to deduce This point of yours is a complex blend So I'll offer irrelevant feedback Try harder.
0
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 8:43 AM UTC
Try Harder
Fields stretching out in yellow and green The brilliant blue of the sky joining in the distance A gentle breeze swaying the sunburnt grass The crickets chirruping their piercing songs Tranquillity is all around The clean air fills the lungs As the calm spreads throughout Like a lover’s hand caressing the body Or the warmth of the first hit of ***** Releasing the pain from within All has disappeared And I am one with nature But its permanence is fleeting The cold turkey will kick in And as thoughts flood back The tsunami of angst returns The realities of life
0
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC
The Permanence Of Time Freezing Together As One
And don’t get me started on interviews. What a ridiculous process. You are asked a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question And answer with one. But in the feedback, They wanted more. And you are not right for them this time. They wish you ‘good luck’ And ‘try again in the future’ But why the **** would you? When you did nothing wrong, But answer their questions as asked. What are you? A ******* mind reader ******
0
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 11:09 AM UTC
The Interview
Just tell me what it is you want Don’t sit there and make me into a mind reader Just say exactly what you want Don’t complain about me behind my back Saying I don’t do this and I don’t do that When you haven’t told me exactly what you want After I told you to be direct Just say what it is you want (For ***** sake)
0
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 4:30 AM UTC
Just
I am the quiet one sat with you whilst being on my own I am the one sat with you that you do not see I am the one working ten times harder than you every day of the week I am the one who you look at and see freak, ****** odd I am the one who doesn’t see what you want me to even though I look I am the one who has layers of disguise The spy who cannot come in from the cold I am the one who keeps it inside what they want to say I am the one who you will never truly know what makes me smile I am the one who needs to be released The shackles of life if only broken And lifting the mask to finally reveal That finally without hesitation or thought I am me, not you I am one.
0
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 9:51 AM UTC
I Am One
Seeing, looking wanting to be let in Life on the edge Of the fringes of society But never quite being there As a shadowy presence of luminous white Flitting around with silent words Observing how easy it is that your laughter Is enjoyed by so many as my words go unheard The ease of which you glide in and out of chatting Weaving sonnets of magic Esoteric word dances of laughter and light The liquored ballads puncturing the air of ****** tension For tonight you are the kings of comedy And I sit on the edge; in and out.
0
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 9:49 AM UTC
On The Edge
I am flawed, lost in the depths, Since I heard the silence beneath their steps. Their map is lean—lines, signs and names, Not seeing beyond the truth they claim. Through their shortcuts, they place me in a cage, A simple outline, they miss the weight behind the stage- What’s soft, unseen, warped by age, With complexity they cannot engage. This map of mine holds space, nuance, weight, Unmarked roads and altered states, It charts the shifts of inner skies, The truths that flicker in disguised eyes. It honours detours, dwells in pause, And bends around unspoken laws. They see it, flawed, lost, estranged, Too raw, too complex, too unarranged. But their neat world cannot gauge the cost, Of all the knowing they’ve lost Let them follow lines well-laid, Their scripted paths in safe charade. But don’t hold me to your labels and limits, Drawn from shortcuts and fleeting minutes. Let me be, let me fly, To map my uncharted sky
0
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
The map they’ll never read
To answer your question, An essay would be most apt, I’ll route through the archives, sift through dusty drawers, Plot the coordinates of where I have been and map out my thoughts. But first I must know: what do you know? Can you hold the depth, can you pause to reflect? And in the moment, you hold my gaze, The silence swelling,it’s weight thick, I am but a deer in the headlights, Startled, still and blank, So in answer to your question, I’m fine.
0
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC
To answer your question
In those words, they handed me a key— to armour I wore unknowingly. A mask that locked me in from the world, its weight a comfort, strangely unfurled. I turned it over in my hand, traced edges I couldn’t understand. I saw its shape behind closed eyes, but stayed where silence felt like disguise— From those walls I could not rise. But then— a whisper flickered through the hush, not one I knew, not one I’d trust. To face the world just naked skin, not knowing what I’d held within, each emotion crashed like waves too wide for fragile bones to hold inside. Each sound, a storm. Each gaze, A question I could not reply I reached for the safety I had known, but the walls were gone—crumbled stone. The cracks beneath my feet grew wide, until the world began to slide. Alone, exposed, and trembling bare, even silence stung the air. But then— the whisper came again, not from beyond, but deep within. A murmur my body remembered, from before I had words. It offered no comfort, no retreat, only truth— raw and complete. And in its truth— a safety transformed, not hiding, but simply being
0
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 11:08 AM UTC
The key
What draws me With squirming  heart Leaning in Staying apart? I watch their ease Relaxed confusion Messy cross-talk Care-less collusion Words collide Neurons firing Thoughts descend Exponentially tiring The outer me Has grown too thin To meet the needs Of fitting in The inner me Wants to be seen But fears the same - The risk too keen They and l Feel subtly   The gulf between Them and me
0
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 5:52 AM UTC
Them, and me
Months burst with potential understanding Thyroid, Childhood Cancer, Breast Cancer And Autism - a landscape of perception I knew little once Before lived experiences carved pathways Of comprehension Hand flapping, repeated movie scenes Specific sensory needs Neurological landscapes diverse as humanity itself From verbal to non-verbal From sibling to parent From self-discovery at 34 My perspective widens like a lens Societal Echoes The world whispers harsh narratives "Discipline them" "Fix them" "Normalize" But we are not broken We are different Intricate neural networks Misunderstood symphonies Digital age amplifies cruelty Marginalization becomes performance Awareness transforms to spectacle, Unfolding Truth Intricate neural pathways Misread as discordant tunes The digital age sharpens cruelty's edge Marginalization dressed as entertainment Awareness turned into spectacle, A truth slowly unraveling Hatred cloaked in the guise of compassion Bigotry masquerading as care April - a month of performative understanding We see what others refuse to witness Complexity beyond simple categorization Humanity in all its beautiful, challenging variations Spectrum wide as consciousness Unbound by neurotypical constraints
0
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 9:06 PM UTC
The Cruelty of Compassion
On to the next Before I have finished the first Forgetting who? Forgetting me? A hunger or thirst To finish third, second or first A race against time With the zone of my mind Like ironing shirts And each crease gets worse Finding time for each urge Defining what hurts. Asking, how should I think? Hurting who? Hurting me? A marathon and sprint If I am only racing myself, how would I win? A superpower and curse You can never comes first Though, you can never come last Only move from your past Tie your laces so fast That the shadow you cast Is the only version you craft Casting who? Crafting me? In all that I see, It will not alienate me Finding my path With ADHD.
0
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 12:13 PM UTC
ADH-Me
From a young age I tried to fit in, Observing those around me from where i was sitting. Taking in their smiles, jokes and body language, Learning this social code which they use to their advantage. My manual is not the same,written entirely for me but I have not read it properly. Navigating a world where I copy to survive, Forver wondering if I sustain this will I learn to thrive? I have become a result of continuous masking, In social situations I feel like I am drowning. Living in a world which does not feel for me,all I can do is write about my isolation in poetry.
0
Mar 11, 2023
Mar 11, 2023 at 4:27 PM UTC
Masking
Now here in the middle of the night when Everyone is getting ready for bed, I lay Under the stars thinking about life. Right here in this moment I feel alive and Only here can I say go Do what you love! Be you cause No one does It better! In this Very moment as Everyone else is sleeping, I lay here Resting and thinking “What's Next?” So I’m going to go live my life to the fullest! I’m going to spread kindness and love To everyone I meet because You are Beautiful and Worth it!
0
Dec 26, 2021
Dec 26, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC
Neurodiversity
i remember this one conversation with such clarity it alarms me in the dead of night with a longing for ecstasy seeping through his tone he asked me, "could..you imagine....what..life...would be like...if we weren't..mentally ill?" and with that question my hanging heart sunk even lower into its pit due to jealousy and frustration for my cursed blessing and i was confused on how for i had believed my heart already laid at what i'd thought to be rock bottom well besides that, he did provoke me to question is there is a chance for my heart to find its rightful place in my body yet again? and maybe along with it all of my chemical receptors, and my neurological network of pathways could all find their own harmonious balance and natural sources of dopamine, serotonin, and epinephrine and have them work "flaw"lessly   just, way they were originally created to when the goddess of mental crafted these things with such care and gifted those beautifully painful things to humankind **** the unholy things i'd do to obtain the goddess of neurotypicality's scientific? spiritual? situational? whatever the **** is in her elixir of secret for mental peace and serenity that few were blessed with unconditionally to me it just sounds like magic but back to him the only way i could reply was with, "i could only dream" for i believe in a lifetime of mine past i may may have made a deal with the devil of neurodiversity, a fallen angel without malice, who simply forgot to grant me the knowledge   of how i would be reborn into a world where its society would be unfit for me and my kind of mind and with that thought lingering i added, "but yeah...it must be nice"
0
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 6:27 AM UTC
May the Goddess of Mental Stability Hear my Prayer
i remember this one conversation with such clarity it alarms me in the dead of night with a longing for ecstasy seeping through his tone he asked me, "could..you imagine....what..life...would be like...if we weren't..mentally ill?" and with that question my hanging heart sunk even lower into its pit due to jealousy and frustration for my cursed blessing and i was confused on how for i had believed my heart already laid at what i'd thought to be rock bottom well besides that, he did provoke me to question is there is a chance for my heart to find its rightful place in my body yet again? and maybe along with it all of my chemical receptors, and my neurological network of pathways could all find their own harmonious balance and natural sources of dopamine, serotonin, and epinephrine and have them work "flaw"lessly   just, way they were originally created to when the goddess of mental crafted these things with such care and gifted those beautifully painful things to humankind **** the unholy things i'd do to obtain the goddess of neurotypicality's scientific? spiritual? situational? whatever the **** is in her elixir of secret for mental peace and serenity that few were blessed with unconditionally to me it just sounds like magic but back to him the only way i could reply was with, "i could only dream" for i believe in a lifetime of mine past i may may have made a deal with the devil of neurodiversity, a fallen angel without malice, who simply forgot to grant me the knowledge   of how i would be reborn into a world where its society would be unfit for me and my kind of mind and with that thought lingering i added, "but yeah...it must be nice"
Continue reading...
59
I have two facts for you that exist in my mind - 1. I am normal 2. I do not 'feel' normal I have never considered myself to be normal. I knew i wasn't normal when at the age of eight after my Dad left my school hired a counsellor just for me, and i wasn't normal how after then i was the only pupil to be from a single parent family. I wasn't normal when just after this abandonment my body entered early puberty, and so feeling weird didn't stay a feeling, it became a reality. Picked on for things out of my control, i felt like a freak. Even at the age of eight, every aspect of my identity was up for scrutiny. I knew i wasn't normal when in secondary school i would purposely get detentions to spend time with teachers, because the the turmoil of the school yard was a teenage no man's land. The company of those my own age is something i will never understand. I knew i wasn't normal when i would hesistate in conversation when someone asked me who i fancied in my class. The name of a random boy rolled from my tongue in an attempt to not blow my cover. I knew i wasn't normal when my tweets coming out as bi were passed around like breaking news. When i tried to defend myself in the interrogations, teachers would sternly say to me - 'That's not appropriate to be talking about in school' like my sexuality was a hushed secret, even though the straight girls were never silenced. I knew i wasn't normal when i had to say i was bi, when in fact this was a lie. A lie to help me pass, pass and hold on to some straight privilege. At the age of sixteen i questionned my worth and value as a person, trying to blame myself for the treatment i was subjected to. I knew i wasn't normal when i decided to place my emotional pain onto a physical space, then patching up the damage as a form of ironic self-care. I left school for a college, desperately seeking freedom from the constraints of a Catholic school. I never felt comfortable in sixth form, being there my mind felt like a spinning waltzer i was strapped to for two years. At seventeen i knew i wasn't normal when i was prescribed the maximum dose of sertraline, then mirtazapine, venlafaxine, fluoxetine. By this point in my life i was on a tally of maybe six counsellors and two CBT therapists. I knew i wasn't normal when i started to blame myself for the therapy not being successful. Maybe i was just meant to be depressed. Changing my thinking styles, emotional regulation, journalling my feelings and triggers, i knew exactly what i had to do. I knew i wasn't normal when i clung onto certin things as comfort, like my adoration for florence and the machine. I started to experiment, toying between wanting to fit in and wanting to be myself, painting bright eyeshadow on my lids as a vibrant mask to carry me through. I knew i wasn't normal when i reached out to the local crisis team experiencing auditory hallicinations, hearing sounds only meant for my ears. My emotional states are a product of my trauma, which is difficult to navigate as the world's greatest performer. Maybe i was meant to face this internal torment, or until now i hadn't considered i could be neurodivergent.
0
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 7:59 PM UTC
What is normal?
I have two facts for you that exist in my mind - 1. I am normal 2. I do not 'feel' normal I have never considered myself to be normal. I knew i wasn't normal when at the age of eight after my Dad left my school hired a counsellor just for me, and i wasn't normal how after then i was the only pupil to be from a single parent family. I wasn't normal when just after this abandonment my body entered early puberty, and so feeling weird didn't stay a feeling, it became a reality. Picked on for things out of my control, i felt like a freak. Even at the age of eight, every aspect of my identity was up for scrutiny. I knew i wasn't normal when in secondary school i would purposely get detentions to spend time with teachers, because the the turmoil of the school yard was a teenage no man's land. The company of those my own age is something i will never understand. I knew i wasn't normal when i would hesistate in conversation when someone asked me who i fancied in my class. The name of a random boy rolled from my tongue in an attempt to not blow my cover. I knew i wasn't normal when my tweets coming out as bi were passed around like breaking news. When i tried to defend myself in the interrogations, teachers would sternly say to me - 'That's not appropriate to be talking about in school' like my sexuality was a hushed secret, even though the straight girls were never silenced. I knew i wasn't normal when i had to say i was bi, when in fact this was a lie. A lie to help me pass, pass and hold on to some straight privilege. At the age of sixteen i questionned my worth and value as a person, trying to blame myself for the treatment i was subjected to. I knew i wasn't normal when i decided to place my emotional pain onto a physical space, then patching up the damage as a form of ironic self-care. I left school for a college, desperately seeking freedom from the constraints of a Catholic school. I never felt comfortable in sixth form, being there my mind felt like a spinning waltzer i was strapped to for two years. At seventeen i knew i wasn't normal when i was prescribed the maximum dose of sertraline, then mirtazapine, venlafaxine, fluoxetine. By this point in my life i was on a tally of maybe six counsellors and two CBT therapists. I knew i wasn't normal when i started to blame myself for the therapy not being successful. Maybe i was just meant to be depressed. Changing my thinking styles, emotional regulation, journalling my feelings and triggers, i knew exactly what i had to do. I knew i wasn't normal when i clung onto certin things as comfort, like my adoration for florence and the machine. I started to experiment, toying between wanting to fit in and wanting to be myself, painting bright eyeshadow on my lids as a vibrant mask to carry me through. I knew i wasn't normal when i reached out to the local crisis team experiencing auditory hallicinations, hearing sounds only meant for my ears. My emotional states are a product of my trauma, which is difficult to navigate as the world's greatest performer. Maybe i was meant to face this internal torment, or until now i hadn't considered i could be neurodivergent.
Continue reading...
32
O brother, tell us where you've been! What is the world like beyond these trenches? Is it safe to crawl out — we heard the wolves were just 'were-' with a sweet tooth. Won't you help us sniff out the lotus from the roses, their thorns so cleverly hidden… Sisters, we're tired of hiding in the dark, our eyelids shut by the nurse's damp cloth; To our champions: were you blessed in your travails? Did you find the loving, the caring, the fabled Happy People that Nashville balladeers croon about? brave children, remember to return; we dreamed of setting foot in a place of our own, too. does one exist in their world || // NOT THEIR WORLD NOT OURS EITHER BUT ALL OF OUR UNIVERSE //
0
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 2:23 AM UTC
Giha Village (When You Return)
Sometimes I hope that someone might notice my difference, Might intuit that the first approach, The handshake, the "Can I join you?" Is simply more difficult And make the first move. Sometimes I hope that people will realize the hand motions, Foot tapping, slight rock of the body or toes Are not merely a restless fidget, Not impatience, nor disrespect. Sometimes I want to be invisible, Normal, Neurotypical, To be just another human being, But mostly I wish to be accepted, Autistic, quirky, kind, creative, ME.
0
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 11:34 PM UTC
First Approach