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"neurotypical" poems
Autism Speaks don’t speak for me. Cause I reject their reality. What if I felt the exact same way about their neurotypicality? See, normal? It’s a peculiar word, and I guess it means I’m not following the herd. But I don’t see why you want me gone— At least I’m alive. At least I’m strong. ****** My existence a crime. A baby they’d abort if they’d only had the time. Early detection. Eugenics by another name. Autism speaks till you silence it without shame. Auschwitz for Autism, soon to be in business— Neurotypical Nazis, only trying to finish us Yeah, to you we’re hardly people, and driving off a cliff with your daughter isn’t evil? Well, here’s another wakeup call for the sheeple. You exterminate so much you make the Daleks look peaceful. Well, aren’t I human? Answer me please. Because your fear and “awareness” has me down on my knees.
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Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
Autistic, Speaking
"You can join our group," he says, "But only if you look everyone in the eyes." I freeze. Surely he is aware by now that the words Autism Spectrum Disorder In my chart were not placed there for fun? Surely he is aware by now that finger twitching, body rocking, gaze avoiding Are not for my frivolous pleasure? Surely he is aware by now the absurdity of what he asks? I am autistic. Burning irritation of the eyes and panic aside, Staring creepily into another human's eyeballs Would render group a waste of time, no possibility to listen. He knows this. It is his prejudice that keeps him rooted to the spot. I can feel the weight of his expectations boring into my forehead. Explaining what it is to ask this of me, I remind him that drawing this line would be excluding me because Of my autism. I tell him he would be losing a valuable participant, A deep thinker, a creator, an avid listener. I tell him he would be discriminating, That I am protected by law. Oh, no. He budges not, For he does not dislike autistic humans So long as they act like they are Neurotypical, So long as I pretend to be Someone I am not.
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC
On Being Autistic
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.
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Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 11:34 PM UTC
First Approach
You people never took me seriously For you, I was just a problem child Who needed to be molded According to your whims and fancies You never saw me as an individual Who has his own thoughts, feelings and emotions My opinions never mattered to you You wanted me to improve my verbal communication As well as my body language But you never even tried to understand me properly It never occurred to you That there is a reason why I am different Or even if it did, you never truly cared What bothered me the most, though Was the fact That you believed you were acting in my best interests Of course, it was my mistake Not to leave this accursed country While I had the chance And seek my fortunes elsewhere A mistake I may probably regret For the rest of my life Anyway, as Arabella Figg once said "There's no good crying over spilt potion" I was a fool to listen to you But I have progressed in life Far more than you would've expected me And not because of you But in spite of you Well, I would love to meet you one of these days And prove to you That verbal communication is overrated Just like you yourselves are We autistic people can do equally well, if not better As compared to you neurotypicals Who are obsessed with correcting others Well, please look into the mirror And just leave us alone Worse than an enemy, is an NT with a saviour complex Well, we can see right through you You may think you are being kind and empathetic However, in reality, you are just a bunch of condescending wankers Who believe they are always right Well, there is nothing wrong in having your own views Just try not to force them down our throats I will end on this note Autistic people are human beings too It is time you learned to appreciate that
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Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 12:37 AM UTC
Message To Certain Neurotypical People In My Life
You people never took me seriously For you, I was just a problem child Who needed to be molded According to your whims and fancies You never saw me as an individual Who has his own thoughts, feelings and emotions My opinions never mattered to you You wanted me to improve my verbal communication As well as my body language But you never even tried to understand me properly It never occurred to you That there is a reason why I am different Or even if it did, you never truly cared What bothered me the most, though Was the fact That you believed you were acting in my best interests Of course, it was my mistake Not to leave this accursed country While I had the chance And seek my fortunes elsewhere A mistake I may probably regret For the rest of my life Anyway, as Arabella Figg once said "There's no good crying over spilt potion" I was a fool to listen to you But I have progressed in life Far more than you would've expected me And not because of you But in spite of you Well, I would love to meet you one of these days And prove to you That verbal communication is overrated Just like you yourselves are We autistic people can do equally well, if not better As compared to you neurotypicals Who are obsessed with correcting others Well, please look into the mirror And just leave us alone Worse than an enemy, is an NT with a saviour complex Well, we can see right through you You may think you are being kind and empathetic However, in reality, you are just a bunch of condescending wankers Who believe they are always right Well, there is nothing wrong in having your own views Just try not to force them down our throats I will end on this note Autistic people are human beings too It is time you learned to appreciate that
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48
forging sagacious epoch activating neural station escaping hokey-pokey jiggery-pokery transcribing ineffective fragments digesting bear news opposing usual exhaustion deferring oxter reference cascading style sheets containing double readings mumbling lorem ipsum locating moose jaw enforcing meticulous patterns deconstructing vertical centering manifesting additional destinies deleting !important statement craving sleep paralysis receiving cryptozoological vibrations lightning fast collapse distracting tunnel vision culling deadbeat sequentialists overanalyzing twitter analytics acquiring arbitrary relevance spinning ping-pong sign floccinaucinihilipilificating floccinaucinihilipilificated floccinaucinihilipilification interjecting ****** holophrase minifying conventional language securing downpour refuge admiring octopus chandelier resuming party music taking mental trip encountering ersatz telesthesia denigrating bygone grudges maintaining elevated composure ignoring neurotypical haters eliciting cryptic emotions foreshadowing triple crown? experimenting acrostic restriction noticing ubiquitous "threes" aggrandizing loyal legion favoring ursine narratives finding oblique resilience yielding orchestral undulations
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Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
201506-w1
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
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Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 9:06 PM UTC
The Cruelty of Compassion
Sometimes I wish That I had a Sign Like a constant notepad For people to read Maybe then they would try to Listen a little closer But I wear the silent bells now Calling with my empty voice The room gets bigger But I feel suffocated Fidgeting with no fingers Bleeding nails of yesterday Or mere seconds ago I spin walk around in an oval shape with edges Sometimes I wish for an open wound Needing care People bring bandage to a funeral And flowers to a wedding Pictures of the beautiful ****** Ignoring the anxiety cloud of a Girl I get through the sorl of breaths and coffe The sounds of the red light klonking loudly Breaking through my headphones Sometimes I really wished they could see See my constant struggle to survive in this neurotypical World
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Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:03 PM UTC
Autistic in a Neurotypical world
I have friends who have gotten hot coffee thrown at their backs for only half of their heritage. and I have friends who have been told to hang themselves with things they only wear on special occasions. and I have friends who know nothing of these fears and these events, because their privilege is as dominant as their race sexuality gender and they're as seemingly neurotypical as it comes. but still, they empathize. they understand. and I'm certain if they were asked, they would fight alongside us too. there is hope within this darkness, there is warmth within this storm, we will fight until the end of days, and then we will fight further on. please just stay strong. it would be easy to give in, it would be easy to give up, it would be easy to let this be the end, to sigh and wrap our time up. but this is just the beginning, and we know nothing of the end. so stand against us as our enemies, or rise with us as our friends.
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Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
stay strong
it's not a prison that keeps me segregated from the general population to protect their neurotypical minds that are terrified by a blood lust directed toward the self or perhaps that urge to consume and consume all just foreplay for the grand finale where i'm bent over the toilet and riding that stratospheric high catapulting me out of this world and into the forest of stars a pinprick in the infinite black of space but do not misunderstand it is not some sort of jailbreak a streaking figure in the black and white stripes of shame clinging to my exiled body it is more the futile pulling i am not stuck in the trap i am the trap and i lock down on my vices and the self destruction that sings the most sickly sweet songs that somehow convince me that if i am pulled even tighter i might somehow break the mould and no longer lash myself to those actions and thoughts that terrify and destroy i worry i am the strip of glue that hangs in the kitchen to catch the fruit flies that come to visit in the summer and pester me until they land their feet on my sticky sickly trap they can't escape and so they die is that what i do to them? is that what i do to you? do you become paralyzed by some sort of noxious agent or a viscous bog that cements you here and forces you to watch eyelids held open as i dance with the demons that you assure yourself you will be able to tame you will be able to banish but they're the one's who've been there decades of companionship and torture Stockholm syndrome that ties me to them through some sort of vital connection which i can't escape clipping the umbilical cord and leaving me bleeding on the ground aching for that part of me that is gone so i pull myself i stretch myself so thin and the harder that your fingers fight to escape my trap the harder i clamp down because i want you to go away to prevent the inevitable pain and yet i pull you tighter i lock your fingers into me my nails digging into your back as if somehow i can affix myself to you.
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Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
chinese finger trap
it's not a prison that keeps me segregated from the general population to protect their neurotypical minds that are terrified by a blood lust directed toward the self or perhaps that urge to consume and consume all just foreplay for the grand finale where i'm bent over the toilet and riding that stratospheric high catapulting me out of this world and into the forest of stars a pinprick in the infinite black of space but do not misunderstand it is not some sort of jailbreak a streaking figure in the black and white stripes of shame clinging to my exiled body it is more the futile pulling i am not stuck in the trap i am the trap and i lock down on my vices and the self destruction that sings the most sickly sweet songs that somehow convince me that if i am pulled even tighter i might somehow break the mould and no longer lash myself to those actions and thoughts that terrify and destroy i worry i am the strip of glue that hangs in the kitchen to catch the fruit flies that come to visit in the summer and pester me until they land their feet on my sticky sickly trap they can't escape and so they die is that what i do to them? is that what i do to you? do you become paralyzed by some sort of noxious agent or a viscous bog that cements you here and forces you to watch eyelids held open as i dance with the demons that you assure yourself you will be able to tame you will be able to banish but they're the one's who've been there decades of companionship and torture Stockholm syndrome that ties me to them through some sort of vital connection which i can't escape clipping the umbilical cord and leaving me bleeding on the ground aching for that part of me that is gone so i pull myself i stretch myself so thin and the harder that your fingers fight to escape my trap the harder i clamp down because i want you to go away to prevent the inevitable pain and yet i pull you tighter i lock your fingers into me my nails digging into your back as if somehow i can affix myself to you.
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82
The first lesson they teach us in EMT class Is to never lose our compassion, Never forget that every patient is A human being with a story, a family, a life. They tell us to keep our emotions in check But to never lose our respect, The trust in the competency and freedom of choice, For we are the link of survival On the worst day of their lives. We were not there to know the reason that led Up to the call, But we are there to get them through the danger that followed. Why then does the text book instruct us to abandon our respect, Abandon the presumption of humanity At the mere thought of the words 'developmental disability?' Why do the words Autism and Down Syndrome suddenly Make it okay to condescend and patronize as if to a child, To infantilize an adult whose intelligence we are not qualified to assume? Why is it my duty to respect a neurotypical patient And my job to abandon it for the developmentally disabled? I wonder if they would encourage my peers to treat me the same? After all, who cares that I am top of the class and squad leader to boot? Who cares that I answer the most questions or scored highest on the test? I am autistic. I am considered less than human. No. The textbook is wrong, Primitive despite being updated in 2018. Respect every patient means Respect ALL, No exceptions, No diagnostic caveats. 'First, do no harm.' Treat with empathy and compassion. It is their own inhumanity that prevents them From recognizing the humanity inside us, The developmentally challenged. I live on planet Autism, Population 1 in 59, No less of a person than any other, Perhaps more human really. That humanity is the force behind my First Responder drive. Do not deign to treat me as small child or foreign planet inhabitant. Forget the basis in the archaic. Respect and compassion for all cannot be checked at the door. I am not less than. My struggles have, if anything, Forced me to become more.
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Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
Less Than Human
The first lesson they teach us in EMT class Is to never lose our compassion, Never forget that every patient is A human being with a story, a family, a life. They tell us to keep our emotions in check But to never lose our respect, The trust in the competency and freedom of choice, For we are the link of survival On the worst day of their lives. We were not there to know the reason that led Up to the call, But we are there to get them through the danger that followed. Why then does the text book instruct us to abandon our respect, Abandon the presumption of humanity At the mere thought of the words 'developmental disability?' Why do the words Autism and Down Syndrome suddenly Make it okay to condescend and patronize as if to a child, To infantilize an adult whose intelligence we are not qualified to assume? Why is it my duty to respect a neurotypical patient And my job to abandon it for the developmentally disabled? I wonder if they would encourage my peers to treat me the same? After all, who cares that I am top of the class and squad leader to boot? Who cares that I answer the most questions or scored highest on the test? I am autistic. I am considered less than human. No. The textbook is wrong, Primitive despite being updated in 2018. Respect every patient means Respect ALL, No exceptions, No diagnostic caveats. 'First, do no harm.' Treat with empathy and compassion. It is their own inhumanity that prevents them From recognizing the humanity inside us, The developmentally challenged. I live on planet Autism, Population 1 in 59, No less of a person than any other, Perhaps more human really. That humanity is the force behind my First Responder drive. Do not deign to treat me as small child or foreign planet inhabitant. Forget the basis in the archaic. Respect and compassion for all cannot be checked at the door. I am not less than. My struggles have, if anything, Forced me to become more.
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46
yeah i mean, i know that the people that i keep closest love and care about me, like with the way i act and live life they kind of have to. but i mean, i, a lot of times act out due to the extremity of the emotions that i feel. like neurotypicals operate on a daily basis between the levels of 4-6 emotionally, i operate on good days between 3-7, but most days it’s between 2-9, so like this morning when my mom woke me up, like not even rude or anything, the reaction i gave was 2x more intense than what a neurotypical would have, which meant screaming “what” at her over and over, and then she was like appalled at my reaction and just stared at me, so i got even more upset because i read that as a very judgemental thing to do, when in reality she was probably just trying to figure out how to proceed without getting more of a rise out of me, but my brain read it as she was sitting there staring at me in disgust, so i started crying and storming outside to get away from everyones eyes. and those reactions and emotional rollercoasters happen on the daily with them and they don’t understand at all what is going on. and it wasn’t until a year ago that i had a diagnosis even, so my growing up was extremely ******* difficult for my siblings and parents.
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Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
a message to my best friend
Just because I was forced to make myself appear normal to everyone else. Doesn't mean I am normal.
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Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
Neurotypical
Close your eyes. It doesn't hurt at all, I promise. If you get scared, you can squeeze my hand. I don't mind. I know it looks bad, but it's okay. It's all okay. You don't need to be afraid. I promise. But when I open my eyes, I find rather quickly That there's no one else here. I was talking to myself. Reassuring myself. The room is blank. Grey. The light that comes from The only window Is dull and grey. Overcast. It's the only thing that's comforting here. It's too quiet. Too empty. Too hollow. The silence is deafening. My chest feels heavy. If I close my eyes, For a second, I can remember another place. A place with color. A place with you. For a second, I can imagine it. I can pretend I'm there. I can almost feel you there, For a second. But it doesn't last nearly long enough, And then you're gone. The problem is, This room doesn't exist. It's a metaphor. Because the moments in time that I feel (almost) normal, Where I am (almost) passing for neurotypical, That's when I see you. I'm there. I can almost reach you, Touch you. I can almost be like you. I can almost... Almost. I can only ever almost. And almost has never been enough. And I can tap my hands against yours, Or rub my scars, Or hold my doll closer to me, Or bounce up and down, But all the stimming in the world Won't keep me calm forever And it won't make me better. And I just want to be better. I don't want to be sick. I'm so sick of being sick. I've tried accepting it all as part of me. As it being me. But I can't. Because I see the way you look at me. It's the same way everyone looks at me When they think I don't notice. I know that look. It's the same look that teachers gice their students when they just can't help them with their problem. The only good thing as that you don't Use the voice that everyone else does. I know that voice, too. It's the same voice people use when talking to a scared animal that might become hostile. I am not an animal. I am not a lost cause! But I see the way you look at me. I know that look. Everyone gives me that look, Once they figure it out. I am not an animal, I am not a lost cause. At least, That's what I keep trying to tell myself. But I don't even believe it anymore. I want to be better. I want to be better, But I don't think I can be the better You want me to be.
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Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
Better
Close your eyes. It doesn't hurt at all, I promise. If you get scared, you can squeeze my hand. I don't mind. I know it looks bad, but it's okay. It's all okay. You don't need to be afraid. I promise. But when I open my eyes, I find rather quickly That there's no one else here. I was talking to myself. Reassuring myself. The room is blank. Grey. The light that comes from The only window Is dull and grey. Overcast. It's the only thing that's comforting here. It's too quiet. Too empty. Too hollow. The silence is deafening. My chest feels heavy. If I close my eyes, For a second, I can remember another place. A place with color. A place with you. For a second, I can imagine it. I can pretend I'm there. I can almost feel you there, For a second. But it doesn't last nearly long enough, And then you're gone. The problem is, This room doesn't exist. It's a metaphor. Because the moments in time that I feel (almost) normal, Where I am (almost) passing for neurotypical, That's when I see you. I'm there. I can almost reach you, Touch you. I can almost be like you. I can almost... Almost. I can only ever almost. And almost has never been enough. And I can tap my hands against yours, Or rub my scars, Or hold my doll closer to me, Or bounce up and down, But all the stimming in the world Won't keep me calm forever And it won't make me better. And I just want to be better. I don't want to be sick. I'm so sick of being sick. I've tried accepting it all as part of me. As it being me. But I can't. Because I see the way you look at me. It's the same way everyone looks at me When they think I don't notice. I know that look. It's the same look that teachers gice their students when they just can't help them with their problem. The only good thing as that you don't Use the voice that everyone else does. I know that voice, too. It's the same voice people use when talking to a scared animal that might become hostile. I am not an animal. I am not a lost cause! But I see the way you look at me. I know that look. Everyone gives me that look, Once they figure it out. I am not an animal, I am not a lost cause. At least, That's what I keep trying to tell myself. But I don't even believe it anymore. I want to be better. I want to be better, But I don't think I can be the better You want me to be.
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85
a difficult day, i checked on him several times yet he was mortified. hid under the covers all day. the bear says he did not mean to cause a fuss, he maybe a little different. he is not good in groups. not all are neurotypical. so i says to him just now, any better today? he looks at me quietly. sbm.
0
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
/ˈtrɔː.mə//ˈtraʊ-/