Poetry: Four AM Thoughts
You’d think the world were ending. With how null-coloured cracks rack the sky. And razor winds shred the upside down sea overhead, Into shards of
You’d think the world were ending. With how null-coloured cracks rack the sky. And razor winds shred the upside down sea overhead, Into shards of
The knowledge of being autistic and engaging with the autistic community has restored my faith in my intuition. This poem describes the dialogue I wish to have with those who advise me against my intuition.
Too bold and too brazen, set sunlit clouds of envious hues They form and dither without recollect of heart’s healing
There once was a stone Maker, Of eponymous resolve, Through every creative endeavor, Had a conundrum to solve.
Creative writing in the form of freeverse poetry. An autistic portrayal of what lies behind the mask.
Do you hate me because I have the unique ability to question my surroundings objectively without superstition to cloud my judgement? Do you hate me
“Take what is yours, give everything back. Become who you were always destined to be.”
What are we really saying when we say, “Oh well,” “nevermind,” “I can do without it,” or “forget I ever mentioned it. A poetic exploration.
It hurts to hold this hissing light.
Sears the skin.
Leaves ugly scars.
Where it tears with acrid claws.
An autistic exploration of the sounds of the world in the form of a humorous sestina, a type of poem that follows a pattern of repetition.
You’d think the world were ending. With how null-coloured cracks rack the sky. And razor winds shred the upside down sea overhead, Into shards of
The knowledge of being autistic and engaging with the autistic community has restored my faith in my intuition. This poem describes the dialogue I wish to have with those who advise me against my intuition.
Too bold and too brazen, set sunlit clouds of envious hues They form and dither without recollect of heart’s healing
There once was a stone Maker, Of eponymous resolve, Through every creative endeavor, Had a conundrum to solve.
Creative writing in the form of freeverse poetry. An autistic portrayal of what lies behind the mask.
Do you hate me because I have the unique ability to question my surroundings objectively without superstition to cloud my judgement? Do you hate me
“Take what is yours, give everything back. Become who you were always destined to be.”
What are we really saying when we say, “Oh well,” “nevermind,” “I can do without it,” or “forget I ever mentioned it. A poetic exploration.
It hurts to hold this hissing light.
Sears the skin.
Leaves ugly scars.
Where it tears with acrid claws.
An autistic exploration of the sounds of the world in the form of a humorous sestina, a type of poem that follows a pattern of repetition.
You’d think the world were ending. With how null-coloured cracks rack the sky. And razor winds shred the upside down sea overhead, Into shards of
The knowledge of being autistic and engaging with the autistic community has restored my faith in my intuition. This poem describes the dialogue I wish to have with those who advise me against my intuition.
Too bold and too brazen, set sunlit clouds of envious hues They form and dither without recollect of heart’s healing
There once was a stone Maker, Of eponymous resolve, Through every creative endeavor, Had a conundrum to solve.
Creative writing in the form of freeverse poetry. An autistic portrayal of what lies behind the mask.
Do you hate me because I have the unique ability to question my surroundings objectively without superstition to cloud my judgement? Do you hate me
“Take what is yours, give everything back. Become who you were always destined to be.”
What are we really saying when we say, “Oh well,” “nevermind,” “I can do without it,” or “forget I ever mentioned it. A poetic exploration.
It hurts to hold this hissing light.
Sears the skin.
Leaves ugly scars.
Where it tears with acrid claws.
An autistic exploration of the sounds of the world in the form of a humorous sestina, a type of poem that follows a pattern of repetition.
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