She is different for each one of us,
And she takes away.
Some days she peeks her face over the horizon,
And some days she hides in shame.
But always does she give when she appears,
And never does she take the blame.
Autism Speaks Through Me
I am myself.
I am not a condition,
I am not broken,
I am not an invitation for eery silences,
Or chilly commands,
Or voices dripping in sickly-sweet acid.
I have a voice with which I can speak,
Words of which I can often use.
And although many like me use them scarcely,
Or not at all,
We have a voice and a person,
We are whole and we are complex and we are beautiful,
Because even without sound autism speaks through us all,
And autism speaks through me.
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