I find it funny that there is a trope representing autistic folk as loners because I am anything but that. I am however, pretty nerdy. I have good scores on tests, but I don't really care about school. I would much rather go learn on my own and I'm getting really tired of math. My special interest is folklore. I could drown you in the cultural significance of a wall, any wall. I could rant to you for ages about the irreversible catastrophe that is colonization (I'm white as fuck by the way). The Aztecs are fascinating and I so want to understand their knot work. A fully knotted laguage as well as numbers, written language, sign language, dialects and so much more. I could asphyxiate from excitement right here and now if literally anyone could teach me anything there is to know.

Sadly, that is not possible and school is a living nightmare; the noise, the confusion of people actually wanting to talk to me and be my friend, the figuring out of teachers and vending machines, the constant misgendering. I have had enough. But everyday, I wake up looking forward to school because I get to see the tisms (autism friends). They have special interests and such a love for life, I can't explain it.

Each of us struggle so much. Yet despite it all, manage to get through a day, play some pokemon, learn a song, do some art, watch my little pony and be queer. It's an accomplishment. One for which we support each other. We each know how hard it is for the other. We know why they suddenly switch to ASL instead of English or why my best friend always brings a teddy bear to school. It is because getting through each day with a genuine smile on your face is an accomplishment, one of the best accomplishments. So, you can call me a weirdo. I know why. I know it's strange to bring a model dragon to school and sneak an extra writing notebook into class instead of drugs but its something that brings me joy and that is way too fucking hard to find.

Can I please

go hide

in a dark hole and not do anything

can I please

go cry

where no one will hear

can I go scream to the roof tops

and revel in the rain

can I feel alive again, someday

Can I hear again

the echoing cacophony of crows in the spring

or the deafening cicadas that lull me to sleep?

Can I hear you sing to me,

just one last time

I want to hear your voice,

intertwine with mine

I want to live

to feel

to breath

to do all this things

so I'm asking you, please

won't you let me feel alive

for one last time

Can't think

Can't breathe

I want to float

but I only sink

Wrapped in chains

My ankles break

Their bloodied bones

are my own mistakes

My frozen mind

is filled with fog

I want to escape

but I can't get far

The door is slammed

The floor, it shakes

I fall to my knees

Just to feel them scrape

I catch the ball

to loose the game.

I'm always helping

but I never take

My brain is confused

with things of the past

My vision is filled

with ghosts and bats.

I think

I try

I don't get by

I weep

I break

It's my own mistake

And yet

I can't find

what I did wrong

what I can fix

anything,

that give me a glimpse

of my endless struggle of give and take

bend and break

wake

and try

to make it

but it's all just a game

the game of life

the game of strife

the game

none of us know how to play

so I give

and then I take

One of my hobbies is astral projection, meditating, magic and the like. But, recently I haven't been able to do this because I've been losing track of reality, again. This started during a time of forced isolation. It was part of my training in magic but... well... it went on longer than it should've and I started going insane. I hear voices and see things. They um, are sometimes real and at other times figments of my imagination. I test them. I ask them things I don't know the answer to. Sometimes they get flustered and begin arguing with me. At other times they answet with a question. And still more often, I convince myself that my mind could come up with that answer on its own. It probably can too. The mind has power.

I have thought about giving up all together, but I've had so many experiences which brought me back from the edge and I know forcing my brain to think without arguing with itself is pretty useless, so I don't. I just sort of wait until I have a time where I can't sense things at the edges of the subconscious. I wait until I know the earth is holding me firm. Even so, I get lost. I loose track of time. I loose track of sleep. I mix dreams and reality. I mix characters in books with Gods, demons and the people I see in front of me. I am supposed to be a witch. I am supposed to have fun near Halloween. All that happened this year with the parting of the veil was me having to delegate more energy to keeping up my mental barriers. I can't have random spirits contacting me in the middle of school, it's just not practical. So here I am, a magician, set to graduate top of their class who can't tell if they imagined every piece of magic they've ever done.

Old Soul?

Do you even know what the fuck that means? It means I don't have any fucking friends. It means I buried my wants and needs so far don't I can't see them anymore. It means I put others in front if myself. It means I do what I'm fucking told, not because I'm ok with not being in control, but because I have to. It means my hands are tied and at the same time, I'm the one who feeds the dogs, drives the car, makes the meals, gets you up, brushes your teeth, puts you to sleep and does it over again. I'm only ten. I'm only ten and I'm already an adult. I can count the amount of times I cried but I've lost count of how many times I comforted you. And guess what? It earned me a complement, a fucking complement.

I tried, you know I did.

I tried to do everything. I was there, even when you weren't. I was hungry when the dinner was burnt. I was restless, when you were half asleep and you don't remember any of these things.

And you're not gone, I just got away. You're not gone, but my dad still asks me why I'm not ok.

You're not gone, but you're still not here, or anywhere.

My dad just asked me why I'm upset.

It used to me my brother who I spoke up for instead.

And now when I need him his will has flown away.

My voice has shut up inside.

I can't handle this anyway.

It's not ok.

It's not ok

It's not ok

It's not ok

You asked me why I'm different now,

why I'm not ok.

I could name a million reasons but that doesn't make it change.

And, I know you want to help me but that doesn't make me sane.

I'm not ok

I'm not ok

I'm not ok

You want to know me then forget me half the time.

You say you want me happy but that doesn't mean you try.

I told you the problem is but you just said I lied

And I try

And again I try

I try to be hopeful

I try to be good

I try to be different

because you think I should

But I'm not so different

and I'm not alright

I still have satan whispering by my side

I wish to hope

I wish to try

but that old soul says it's time to die

Do you know what it holds?

Do you know what it means?

Do you think you owe me an apology?

Do you think that someday I'll be alright?

Do you think I'll make it through the night?

Do you know what's holy?

Do you know what's true?

Did you know I've always been afraid of you?

Afraid you're broken, afraid you'd cry, no matter how hard it is I try

my old soul

is dead inside

yet I'll always be by your side

by your side

Help, I thought I got away.

I locked the door.

slid down the frame

I think I got away,

peeking out the window, I see them huslin'

buslin' down, down the road, lookin' for me and others told

others old

others they say are different

they say aren't the same

they say we're evil

they say there's fire in our veins

they say that we're monsters

demons from the deep

they say a tragedy, behind us

is about to break free

they say we're strong

they say we want to break our bonds

they say we've traveled far and long to be free

out of our misery

out of our misery

we just want to be free

to live the joy of reality

to see our face without the tragedy

to win the right to live

without hate

without fear

without mistakes

without all the whispers

without all the wants

we just want to be free

from the trouble that's begun

I look out the window

I spy my brother's face

my brother in arms

my brother in soul

my brother who hates me

in the name of grace

I turn my eyes

and see my sisters shuffling dead

looking for me

so they can chop off my head

I'm gonna die

I slide down the wall

my fingers grab my hair

tear it out and lay me bare

no hope

no tragedy... yet

just a single wall

everything written, at once, comes to be

and I realize the echos of our tragedy

and its covered in rain

slam open the door

alive again

no longer in fear

no longer in the joy of a den

I'm alone

but I'm free again

and the rain comes rushing down

it wipes the blood off of my brow

and for a moment there is peace

and for a moment there is serenity

and for a moment the night turns black

until I start to hack

Bringing unbridled, burning blood

my axe doth strike

my scythe does mow

and when, at last, I wake from the dark

the streets are dead and silent

the rivers run red

and at last I understand

why they kill but never run

Now I understand

They were monsters

Now I am too

not because of who we are

but because of what we choose

now I am what they say I am

I am different

I'm not the same

I'm evil

There is fire a in my veins

The fire of dragons

of anger swift and sweet

I'm a monster

like them

I'm a demon from the deep

A tragedy, behind me

is slowly breaking free

I know I'm strong,

I look down at the scythe in my hand

The tragedy that made me

is about to begin again

And maybe, some day,

long after this is done

I'll go and find a place

where I can sit and heal my scars

but, for now I have one path

there is only path for me

killing them for good

It's the only guaranty

I hear the echos of the dead

they want to live

to love

to be

without fear

they just wanted to be free

for a moment,

my mind turns red

the world turns black,

then I start to hack

I kill everyone who made us hide

All those who said we could not decide

I choose now

to become a monster

so that I don't have to die

so that the people of tomorrow can live in a world where they don't have to decide

I am going to survive

in this form

in destruction

this is what I had to become

blame me

I blame myself

I could have chosen to hide

I could have chosen to die

I chose to survive

For those who are dead

and for those who, behind me, hide

I've been contemplating the meaning of writing.

What makes a poem good?

Why do some things tug on our heart strings while others don't?

Why do some tellings of a trope make me cringe and others not?

What makes good writing good?

Is it the soul you out into it?

The heart left sitting on the page?

Is it the words you use?

Their dissonance, elegance and phrase?

Is it something all together different?

Like the sweet immortality of the Gods?

Or is it a pleasant face, a trying grace, and a determination to continue on

Dear god,

I wish you were real, but the dangers coming from your people contradict everything you stand for.

What of the crusades? Couldn't they have been stopped? Only one of them was won. Maybe that is how your disapproval has been shown. But still, most christians I know hate me. I used to be one of them. I hated people like me, all in the name of serving you. I just didn't realize what it meant to be different.

I remember my parents telling me nose piercings were a sin. They said that people should be satisfied with blending in. They said that we should want to disapear, to give our souls up to the lord. And that anyone who wanted to be unique could face the fiery river at the end of the world.

Now I am one of those people. I am a person who chooses not to blend in, who chooses to question your undeniable words written in tongues of old. I have chosen to question these things because no one deserves to burn for what they believe in. No one deserves to burn for who they are. No one deserves to have their life taken for a piercing or tattoo. Now that I'm older, I see just how rooted in prejudice and racism those ideas were. You said Jesus came down to give grace to all people, that no one was exempt. Well, I choose to exempt myself. I don't want to stand by those who draw a line in the sand, deciding who is good and who is evil. Nothing is that simple. But, neither do I want to forget the lessons I learned in church of gratitude and acceptance. Never mind, I do. Because when I wanted to tell the world how much my mom hurt me, my uncle came up to me and said, "This is not what Christ would want you to do. Just accept it. Just be grateful for what you have." I almost threw him off the roof. Did he think Christ would want me to sit and watch as my life was taken from me one freedom at a time. Would he want me to live in the shadows, never daring to escape because of the fear I lived in everyday? Do you want me, your own child, to suffer? Just so someone like my mom can continue unpunished.

I didn't used to think there was evil in this world. Now, I know there is. I wish I didn't, but I do. I wish you existed, but you don't. I wish there was some salvation, but there isn't. There is only me. There is only one person to help me out of a rut and that is me. I wish it wasn't that way, but it is. I stopped begging. I stopped asking for your help. It never came. I'm not Jobe. I give up.

"How are you today?"

What a silly set of words.

They can mean nothing and everything

Yet always pass in a blur

Swept by like seaweed in a tide

Crushed underfoot like glass running miles high

soar against the sky

just to come sinking down

you forget that no body cares

you forget how desolate the world seemed just moments ago,

because someone cared,

someone cared

even if it was just in passing

even if the wind stole your words

even if you never told them how much it hurts

It's just a pleasant sentence

one single set of words

they can tell you someone cares

but just as easily

remind you of the facade you must put forth.