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.

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

"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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

*******, don't try to define ableism you neurotypical ****

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.

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.

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.

i'd give up a lot to be neurotypical

The day after



Independence Day



a paroxysm



of sparks 



from a lit 



fuse of



natal celebration



re-echoed pressure 



in my skull



fireworks fulminated



directly over my head



painting an abyssal 



night sky 



neon splattered



inapt colors 



reminding me 



of my countries 



bloodshed.



If pills tasted 



like the



ice cream cake



melting



in the middle



of the road 



maybe it 



wouldn't be.



The man



I've loved



has a warm smile



from the open flame



atop his head



and a magical sundry 



of plié-like movements.



Entrancing perfection



a self-inflicted hypnosis 



unbroken left me desperate 



for personal perfection.



When a Phoenix rebirths



it has been written the 



amassing thickets shed 



a layer of their earth's green.



Though, a Phoenix is deific,



Wildfire befit my epithet.



Emerging life was a grace 



of kindness when my laxness 



engrossed, and 



malfeasant memories



of the neurotypical 



remain to unsettle, but 



a blowsy man regrets not. 



Exemption finds me not 



in the arms of grace 



but true despairing. 



Timelessness is a disservice



to progress, and age sheds



light upon transgression.



This is my only accomplishment

A boy told me recently that if I hadn't gone through all the **** I have, maybe he wouldn't have found me- the girl I am as intriguing. Maybe he wouldn't want to understand me like he does if I hadn't gone through so much ****. Maybe I wouldn't be who I am, was his message, more clearly.
Maybe I wouldn't be who I am...but maybe I would be happy. Maybe being neurotypical and healthy wouldn't make me who I am...but I cannot imagine it could be all that bad.

I have traumas surrounding eating disorders and death.
I have diagnosed anorexia nervosa.
Anxiety.
Depression.
I am a survivor.

Life sometimes haunts me, and I can't allow another person to haunt me too. What makes you think you can handle me?
Because I'm pretty tall, because I'm thinner than the average woman, because I'm tan, because I'm blonde, because I have round hips but a flat stomach, because I'm a ***** bisexual, because I work out, because I have long black eyelashes, because I have straight white teeth?

Or is it because you like how I treat people, you like that I will stand up for others, you like that I sing songs, you like that I love deeply and strongly, you like that I read, that I am smart, that I love to learn, that I am perpetually curious, because I have a passion for working with children and being a nanny, because I paint, because I love music and my family, because I want to travel, because I spend nights crying under moonlight writing, because I am bilingual, because I push myself, because I expect myself to create beautiful art and learn all that I possibly can, because I wear what I want and say what I believe?

What is it?

How can you claim to be falling for me when you can't be sure you know what you're falling for?

How can I be falling for you when I don't know if you have the capacity in your heart for me?

I think I could love you eventually.