For my English class, I recently wrote a poem about my autism as part of a Slam Poetry unit. I am sharing this in recognition of World Autism Awareness Day on April 2nd.
Special
I’m a special flower.
People always tell me that.
“You’re special.”
“How… special.”
Special is a knife that cuts down to the marrow of my bones.
Special is not good.
Special is different.
Different is bad.
When I tell people I’m on the spectrum, I become a mind reader.
I read their thoughts like a horror novel.
They’re thinking the same things as everyone else:
I’m mingling with a monster.
I’m friends with a freak.
I know a special person.
You’re not like me.
You’re different.
You’re bad.
Their words are daggers to my heart
Bullets to my soul
Their thoughts hurt me.
I cry from their explosive landings in my mind and on my heart.
No one sees me for who I am.
They don’t see me for my accomplishments or my personality.
To them, I am my autism.
I’m autistic.
I get a different perspective on the world,
But I can’t share it.
That makes me feel alone
Like I have no one to talk to
No shoulder to cry on
Nothing
I’m autistic.
That doesn’t make me less.
Less human
Less deserving of respect
Less intelligent
Less feeling
Less hurt by your words
I am autistic
But I am real
I’m not a character
I’m not a superhero
I’m just me,
A real, human autistic boy
I don’t need your pity
I don’t need your validation
I need what everyone needs
Food
Water
Shelter
Respect
A chance
Friends
Family
Love
Dignity
Humanity
I’m not normal.
That’s okay.
You won’t hurt me again.
