red and yellow leaves,
Falling from their branches and blanketing the world,
I go back to school, back to a new beginning.
Then the last bell rings and, finally,
I'm home.
Sixteen
I've had quite a life.
Now what will the future hold?
I hope it is good.
They Told Me
They told me my father didn't love me.
They were wrong.
All those broken years, I thought he had abandoned us,
When he was fighting so hard to get back into our lives.
They told me my grandmother would take us away,
And she did, in a sense.
But I'm glad of it.
My life was broken pottery,
And she repaired it,
Making seams of molten gold.
They told me my differences were bad,
That I was any number of unspeakable things.
Now I'm proud to be red in a sea of blue
And I’m learning to call myself smart,
Where before, my name may as well have been stupid.
They told me my sister could do no wrong,
And this had the opposite effect,
Making me berate her at every turn.
It's still hard to look past the old days,
When she was an angel from the realms of glory,
And I was a rotten piece of fruit--
But it was never her fault, or mine.
They told me everything, but gave me nothing--
I'll never believe their lies again.
They Don't Speak For Us
After a while,
All the so-called ‘advocates’ start to sound the same.
They claim to want the best for us,
They compare us to a missing piece
In a jigsaw puzzle.
When really,
We’re right here,
Understanding every hateful word.
They say that they know best
When it comes to autism,
But they never once
Ask actual autistic people
How we feel—
About a cure,
About being treated like we’re stupid.
About what it’s like,
Being different in a neurotypical world.
The Things That Saved Me
These are the things that carried me through:
First and foremost, there's
God's unending love,
Guiding me through the darkness,
Even when I didn't believe.
Second, there's
The power of books,
Letting me escape that run-down blue trailer,
At least in my mind and my heart.
Last, but not least, there's
my darling great-grandmother
Who took me in when it seemed like
My life had hit a dead end.
So, in conclusion, I just want you to know...
These are the things that saved me.
To My Younger Selves
Hello, eight-year-old self.
I know you're conflicted,
You don't know what's going on,
Or who to believe,
Or why these caseworkers are taking you away.
Let me tell you, eight-year-old self.
The God you don't yet know will make everything all right.
Hello, ten-year-old self,
I know you feel like you're stupid and inferior.
Guess what?
I'm not going to tell you that these feelings go away completely,
Because they don't. But by the time you're a teenager
You'll have done great things,
And it will get easier to ignore the doubt.
Hello, twelve-year-old self,
I know you've been struggling with wanting to end it all,
Wondering if you're really worth it,
Hating yourself for the littlest mistakes.
One word sums up my message to you:
Soon. Soon you'll learn that you are worthy of love.
It gets better soon.
#trapped
They’re spiraling down,
Into addiction—
It’s not to drugs or gambling,
But it still causes friction.
They’re trapped in a maze
Of phones and games,
They’re losing themselves;
They should all be ashamed.
I can’t help but wonder,
Will I be next?
Excuse me a moment—
I just got a text.
Treefort
SIX
Into the treefort we will go,
Happy and free, we smile so,
As we turn boxes into valleys low--
Into the treefort we will go.
TWELVE
We’re older now, the magic wanes
Replaced by adolescent pains--
We go alone down our memory lanes.
EIGHTEEN
One last time, we decide to go,
Into the treefort, but the cold winds blow,
Grass and weeds have begun to grow,
Our childhoods are over….now we know.
Waiting
Always watching and waiting
By the sea for news of their lovers—
Cruel is the mistress of war.
Day by day those left behind stare at the sea,
Ever hoping for word, and ever
Fearing it in equal measure.
Gone are the glory days, before the call.
Happiness left with the last departing ship.
In the night, they are forced to return to empty houses,
Jars of preserves line the shelves, but there is no one to appreciate them. The
Kings and queens of these foreign lands must have no heart, the women think as they
Linger on the shore, waiting for their
Martyred brothers, husbands, sons—who
Never come back.
Of course, they lost. The enemy was far more
Powerful, with troops upon troops and countless weapons. The
Question is, were all those lives wasted? The ones back home, were they
Ruined for nothing? Their
Small cottages seem so huge, now
That the warriors are gone.
Understanding is impossible, and there is a note displayed on the wall in one house:
“Victory will be ours, dear
Wife, my beautiful
Xandra. Don’t worry,
You will see me again soon.
--Zacharias.”