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Hope 4d
There are days
That are good.
The yelling
is minimal.
The food is eaten.
Arguments
are
but
a
spoonful
             and there is
                  very
                    little
                       crying.

Then there are
days like today.
When you
              yourself
                 don't feel too well.
                    the doctor gives two days
                      of sick leave.

At 4:30
My little autism
walks through
the door.
With smiles,
taking his clothes off
to jump in the pool.
            It only takes a second
            to change the
            whole atmosphere.
            The once smiles
            are now full of tears.
     and no matter what it is
I'm feeling that all gets bashed
against a wall.
Along with my
anxiety it's the splash back
        blue paint down the hall.
                         You see.
                          even as
                          an adult
                          I have
                          trouble.
                         Digesting
                         my own
                         emotions.
       He paces back and forth
       clenches his fingers.
        back
        and
        forth.
        Back
        and
        forth.
    How do I expect my young son
        with autism to tell
me what the root
issue of his tears stem from.
             I was ready to
smash my face
through bricks.
              The repetitive
              questioning,
              repetition of words
             can be a lot even
             for a nut such as myself.

But it's not about me
you,
or my fiance
hearing it all.
It's not even about the fly
crawling on my leg.
               It's about him
               everything has to be.
               Who else is going to
               turn the rain on
               at night for him to sleep?
               Who's going to rub
               his little back to soothe his
               blue nerves to be
               green again?
               And who will receive a
               freshly picked flower
               each afternoon?
                
                        Me.

He finally felt better
once he got the words
out of his belly.
Telling me what provoked
these extreme outbursts.
           I was so proud of him.
        
Now it's," look at that cute cloud."
"Hey, check out my shadow!"
a freshly
plucked
flower.
With autism,
a bipolar mommy
and the sun—

Getting ready
to
nap.
The youngest crawled into bed
with mom while we were watching videos
he said there were
two types of veins
inside of us.

Blue and green.

And that he wanted his brother
to get out of the pool
because he had blue veins.

he was concerned
that his older brother
would get too cold,
his hands would get shriveled,
and would get slippery.

He said he also had—
blue veins

and that's why he yelled
at his brother to get out of the pool.

But that now—
he has green veins

as he touched his belly
he  explained,
why he wanted
his brother to get out of the pool.

His mother told him
that he can just explain next time
that he doesn't want his brother
to get blue veins.

Well, I usually
have green veins
but we watched:
'The last of us'
and Joel just died.
I cried a little along with Ellie
even though he was not a good man
I think he had green veins.
Even if —
they were blue.
Audra Apr 21
Pretty privilege took me, undiagnosed~
It chewed on my ideas of people’s efforts.
It distracted me with its sweetness, nearly deadly.
I had cavities and didn’t know.
It chomped down on my sense of self, when I learned about how spicy I truly am.

I’m still trying to learn to swallow peppers,
and truly enjoy it.
It took some time, but I come to realize;
there’s a reason peppers burn,
and the acquired taste for it out there.
Everyone likes the sweetness in the world.

From a girl who always refused the peppers,
who now refuses the milk.
call me
audieenigma
Márk V Apr 19
Just look at me, i’m like you,
My train of thought is just a little scattered,
Still, i try to act like you,
With the hope that i’ll be accepted.

Different ideas, different behavior,
Different views of the world, different likes.
We’ve never really been the same, have we?
How could we be?

You love the sun, i love the moon and the rain,
You love the crowds, i love solitude,
You love to talk, i struggle with words,
Yet i speak as if we were twins.

I want to speak out loud, to be heard,
But I’m soft, gentle, quiet, like a little mouse,
I hold out my hands like a toddler,
At my age, that must look ridiculous to you.

I am like you,
And even then, you’d still shun me,
Thrown into a corner, placed on a chair, facing the wall,
Told to shut up, and that it will help.

They said I’m being heard, yet i’m still a shadow,
Words of love, but looks of disgust and anger,
It's just like in the old days, isn’t it?
Only dumbed down, and now only words are usable.

I’m human, yet they see me as inhuman,
There’s tolerance, but it barely exists,
Told to accept myself as i am,
But how, after all this?

To think i would've been put in a cage,
To think i would've been ******* and gagged,
To think i would've been starved and beaten,
And to know i cannot be cured.

Despite it, i try to fit in,
Even after the torture done to people like me,
Because you know the saying, right? People change,
If only that could apply to me, so i could be like you.
Aster Mar 30
existing only in the memory, in the mirror
sublime image, a dotted line
wanting, crashing, writhing fatally
imaginary conversations, air drawings

no friend to call mine, intimacy denied
crunchy brain turning to foam
classes blurring, ears ringing
banging the floor till wrists are bruised

profanity, cruelty, pretty girls hating
feeling unwanted by boys (and the girls)
invisible or dissolved?

dishonoured, disgruntled, disillusioned, disenchanted
how right I was all alone
my subconscious mind sending tremors
       disconnection with my own spirit

"I am" I constantly whisper to myself
  in the little gaps of time I'm not dissociated
   fully aware of my material,
                                    not a vaporised form
that I assumed from the treatment of others

vapours solidify, vaporise, dissolve and vanish
Is it okay,
That I don't really feel okay today?

Everyone else seemed real happy
But I just felt out of body.

Everything felt like too much,
And I couldn't stand the smallest touch.

...Is that okay?
Okay that I'm having a kinda bad day?
TreeGoth Mar 7
When I was a little kid
I compared my self to Bart
Simpsons as well as Albert Einstein
What a fine thing to say
But this was the driving force of
My actions
And reactions
To things that went on with this world
A gifted  but misunderstood human
I have become
Now I find out
What I had was not a curse
But the gift
Pixie Mar 6
There was no magic manual that was given when you gave birth to me
But if there was you would have failed miserably
Even if the answers were written in dark red ink
They wouldn't have given anyone time to think
That maybe the magic mannual that came for me is wrong
Because nothing is fixing me it's taking too long.

But if that magic mannual was real
It would tell them I didn't need fixed
If there was a guide book on how to help
It would tell them to breathe with me
If there were check lists on what to do
Would they have even gone through
With helping me or was I just the enemy

It shouldn't have taken a doctor
It shouldn't have taken a stay
It shouldn't taken anything
Besides them just spending one day
Talking to me helping me working with me side by side
I was too young to bare the weight of wanting to die

And that's why even if the magical manual did exist
My parents wouldn't care. They would be ******
That the efforts they were already exhausting wasn't enough
They didn't have the energy for me
They just wanted to use tough love.
But I was a fragile gentle child
Who needed a hug.

I know there's not a magical manual
And especially not for me
But why did my parents give up so tirelessly
When I was struggling endlessly
Complex and matter of factly.


My magic manual mediates the troubles in face.
If it were real maybe I would have gotten some grace.
My magical manual says it there in the fine print
This little girl came with a few dents.
I'm a spectator, maybe even an occasional commenter,
But my borders limit me.
The bubble, it magnifies everything,
And shifts waves so that I see all in a different light.

It's truly beautiful,
But you have to understand how my world view and experience is different from yours.
An ant to you can be a world to me.
Often, its too much,
But you think I'm just being dramatic.

Its isolating, to be trapped within it.
I can't quite reach out to others,
So I'm always just at the border.

I graze my fingers over the surface.
Just past it, normalcy.
I'm so close
Yet so
so
far.
Mimmi Feb 24
A core belief is a thing you can lean into with no second thought
You trust in it's way of leading you
Stretching those nerves
cracking knuckles to haunt your neighbor

Pearl bracelet hanging low, not even trying to hug your arm
Calming your fingers from picking at that hangnail
It’s an annoying habit with a millisecond of relief

Blisters from sharpening those pencils,
for a battle with your notebook.
Letters you don't know, when they'll attack, in what shape or form
A blister you'll have to work around, the angst gives you space for more hangnails picking

The space between your fingernail and your next endeavor is a leap of struggle
or a buffet of choices which in all realness is just a lot of overthinking as a slow road to insanity

My core belief is an quivering tree of question marks
I think it represents the mindset
to begin anything with a clean slate

Have no expectations, then you won’t be disappointed
And you get surprised if it's actually not bad
But as an overthinker with anxiety and autism I stand with the quivering tree of question marks
I begin with a silent question, who is even listening

Trying to catch phrases, pauses, looks, body language
And then the quivering tree switches the question marks to nests of information

Mental notes of things I think is important, learning later that I missed the main point
Maybe the jokes lands a bit late
It’s okay, I get there in the end

A tree is a main point for endless branches and leaves
The real gold is the process you can’t see
The roots
The roots with its wings that never sleeps
Constantly expanding, learning and growing even when others only sees what the tree lets it see

A core belief of
a pessimist
a lingering friendship
a healing wound
a riptide
Can't always keep up with this world. I feel lost and heavy with anxiety.
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