My Own Autistic Song

 

My vision is blurred,

but my senses are heightened.

I miss the point,

but I see the rhyme,

and there I could stand

like a deer in the headlights,

wanting to run

or morph into a puppet.


My body's sick, tired,

and I still don't have wings.

I'm longing to sing,

but the pitch I must practice.


I can't be graceful just because

I can look the part.

That is only art...

though I'm tripping inside

on things I thought were understood,

but now they're no good…

So I hide,

no longer wanting

to get on the ride.


Looking for the answers

on an endless continuum,

where everything is related

in fluidity,

it is such a pity

that only few can see it,

and I don't understand

because

it's right before my eyes.


All alone in a world

of flickering, moving images

with a touch of femininity

applied to my map,

but the obvious; I'm daft,

confused by the sounds

of dishonesty

underneath the masks,


spilling out words

running out from a script

which I understand as only,

"I could copy this if…"

and therefore, and so on,

'til I'm drowning in thoughts,

problem solving, connecting, building

all that energy to talk.


I'd forgotten who I really was

amid the expectations,

more painful ‘cause I do like people.

I do desire relation.

But I can only do so much

before my brain becomes tired.

How can I still reach out and touch

without the compromise?


I can't disguise who I am

anymore,

but I want to open my door.

Is this possible to conceive

when people won't believe?

Looking at me, they see

something I have been made to be

through learning and watching.


I'm tired of playing scenes.

I'm tired of living in dreams.

Is there another way of going on?

Yes,

it is like a song...

my own autistic song.


Enjoy reading Purple Ashes In the Sky on Blogger and consider

supporting the book via purchase or donating to my Go Fund Me.

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