Are you listening? Those who feel like they don't belong, like they have nowhere left to go- are you here? Can you here me?

I want a world of my own, of our own, where we don't have to suffer to survive just because we are different. Don't you? I hate feeling so alone, like I'm the only one in this endless, inked sea of societal despair, trapped by a system that knows nor cares not of the validity of my existence. I look around, and so many feel it too, and I know that I can't be alone, but they shove it down to be accepted. But I have always been alone, no matter how hard I try, and I can't do that anymore. It's not viable. And I know that it's like this for others- it has to be, right? So, please, are you out there? The people hidden in the dark, waiting to be free? The people forgotten, lonely, left viscerally wanting more?

Is there anyone out there?

Am I always going to be alone?

Cracked eyes, too-bright sunlight invading, and for the countless time, I wish that it would end. That this world, the one that keeps rejecting me, hating me, telling me I'm worthless for my neurodivergency, could somehow recognize my humanity, could break. I want to shatter the world like its shattered me, over and over and over again, just because I'm different. But the blinding light seeps through, still. It's here, and the pain isn't going away. I'm not going away. How can two things so discordant, my world and my literal existence, exist here in this moment, one yearning to consume and the other to be free? How can they both survive, when the society around me exists solely to consume and destroy the essence of who I am? How will I survive this summer, this time of too-bright, putrefying sun?

Boots click on tiled stone, their cacophony of sound dramatically dropping decibels with every explosive bang that echoes through the hall. A sharp smile grows wider, impossibly so, as suits falls with pulls of a trigger, sleek strides propelling them closer - a door, a final release, a freedom won.

Alone.

Sitting and contemplating.

What I need most, more than anything in this world, is

you; you being with me through it all.

I will never need this,

this isolation, madness

Please, I need this.

Come to me.

Don’t

leave me alone.

Leave me alone.

Don’t

come to me.

Please, I need this;

this isolation, madness.

I will never need this,

you; you being with me through it all;

what I need most, more than anything in this world, is

sitting and contemplating.

Alone.

You have no idea how much I can hate

Even though you’re my

friend

family

love

you really have no idea,

do you?

like frost clouding a window,

seeping into my heart,

unfeeling cold.

You don’t know that I have learned to “hate like a woman” (to quote a good book),

to hate not with a firery, intense

passion,

but with cool, strong, unyeilding

ice.

To never forget

never forgive

never yeild

to stay strong like winter,

to hate.

And you’ll never know.

Because I am a chamelion;

my face and demenor change with the breeze,

but I can melt into the shadows too.

You don’t realize how easily I can make people forget

that I’m “mad”,

upset,

hurting;

all the while turning these useless emotions into something helpful,

strong,

my beloved ice.

Hey, can I see?

What happened?

What did you say? I didn’t hear you...

uhh, sure

oh, you know. the usual

never mind

it’s really not a big deal anyway

mentally, I roll my eyes. I know it’s not a big deal,

to you at least, but I’m curious.

I can’t help but remember my moms’ voice saying:

Remember, curiosity killed the cat!

Screw that!

I’m curious, okay? I like the sentences

and stories

and pictures being completed. I’m not trying to be nosy;

I’m not trying to barge in on your life, I’m asking about things

you already said to me

you showed everyone else in the class

things everyone else already knows about.

When yesterday,

you showed everyone else an image,

my people crowding around your shoulders,

I squeezed in there too,

everyone smiling and chatting about that image,

wow, that’s cool! where did you find that? that’s messed up, in a good way

then the computer shuts,

people step back,

and I have no idea what’s going on,

I asked what happened? what was the image showing?

nothing much

never mind

it wasn’t too funny anyway, you don’t need to care

I hate this.

Seriously?

This is the way you’re treating me?

Oh, screw you. I brought a book today,

anyway.

Why do I need others when I can dissapear into inky words?

Books are just

so

much

more

reliable.

is heat is low tide is watching

the granite boulders shimmer with

bits of hidden mica is the seagulls soaring the ocean

crashing is the people lazily walking by taking back

the road from cars flip-flops padding

across yellow lines uncaring about the two

cars patiently waiting is turning

a page in your book while the heat persists making

time move like honey is sitting in a well-loved chair old wicker

groaning beneath faded cushions is eyes longingly

staring at the waves wishing

you could make the tide rise hoping that soon

you can swim is trying

to play a game of cards but nobody

agrees on what to play is moving from

from one leisure to the next is the rough texture

of the sketchbook in your hands as you pull

it out of your worn bag the scratch of pencil

moving across the page powdery graphite

smudging around the new lines is the shadows

lengthening the twisting branches of the ancient

tree stretching across

the lawn the hedge whispering

back to the breeze tantalizingly drifting

off the waves promising an escape

from the relentless heat is the lowering sun glinting

off the backs of bikes leaning precariously

on the side of the porch tangled

into each other is the sun painting the

sky in violent streaks of color is people

walking towards you bringing plates covered in tinfoil chatting

while they walk up the steps to the porch flip-flops pounding

the white painted wood is the laziness of the day

melting away and you realize

the night has begun

I always like thinking best;

I dream- it’s what I do.

I create mountains,

and hills,

and rivers,

and cities,

ecosystems,

moons,

species.

And yet,

for every

place

planet

person

I create,

I wonder-

How long until I am trapped in my mind?

When I think,

and dream

and run from reality

I am lost to this world-

is the object in front of me real

or is the place in my mind?

I like that place so much more than here.