The Autism Spectrum According to Autistic People

Autism neurodiversity
Autism neurodiversity

Poetry

Poem: They Called Me a Vulture

When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.

Poetry: Unmasking As Autistic Pride

in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of

Poetry: Don’t Tell Me

Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there.  I don’t

Poem: SSR Island

It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And

Poem: Anomaly

You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask

Bittersweet is My Favorite Word

I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang.  There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.

Poem: They Called Me a Vulture

When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.

Poetry: Unmasking As Autistic Pride

in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of

Poetry: Don’t Tell Me

Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there.  I don’t

Poem: SSR Island

It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And

Poem: Anomaly

You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask

Bittersweet is My Favorite Word

I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang.  There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.

Poem: They Called Me a Vulture

When Leza was bullied for standing up for survivors of sexual abuse, they turned the abuse on its head by forging a symbolic connection with an oft-maligned but useful animal, the vulture.

Poetry: Unmasking As Autistic Pride

in the world we live in,we are told the following thingsoverand overand overagain: “get up.” “try harder.” “use your words.” “speak louder.” “stop whining.” “you’re

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of

Poetry: Don’t Tell Me

Don’t Tell Me Life’s too hard I’ve come this far To go nowhere Why the blank stare? Don’t tell me you’ve been there.  I don’t

Poem: SSR Island

It’s my island, mine alone, so I’m alone. Singing to myself and the sea. With equally endless ever-churning fractal blacks above and below me. And

Poem: Anomaly

You are an anomaly;A nebula, the birth-place of light and wonder.Your glow is widespread and beyond reach. They will call you a rarity.They will ask

Bittersweet is My Favorite Word

I’ve always felt that I am biding my time. When I say “I’ve always felt”, I mean as far back as I can remember. Like the things I was seeing and experiencing in my life were not the whole shebang.  There was another place I was living and operating . . . almost.

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