
Poetry: Interrogate My Reception
I feel your pain— not in sympathy, but in symphony.
I feel your pain— not in sympathy, but in symphony.
Who can change the tesseract that engulfs us towards doom? Who has all the answers, who can say what life means? Worst of all, how do you know?
I can’t tell them it’s all right, but I can be with them. I am still strong, and I will never forget the green, and the wind from the high places. —This is when I am—
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
Providing no-cost, ad-free, high-quality articles
by autistic writers and professionals.
We’re also working on several charitable initiatives.
Get weekly updates on all our stories