An innocuous dream nears a muddled climax.
A morning dawns.
Notionally, blinded by winter’s dark spell.
Trapped in a bed with two wrong sides.
I arise to confront my puppeteer.
The first string.
Draws the blinds on happy thoughts.
The others impose a dystopian dance.
The mind jerks in a trance.
As I brush away the plaque.
It plants bugs aplenty.
A canopy of dread for the day ahead.
Will my milk be the right warm?
How about that waffle?
Will we exchange pleasantries?
Or feud like a toxic couple?
Can I walk the tightrope?
Or will I trip and spew the venom I carry?
Can someone cut the strings?
Please.
“Crossword?”
Snap!
I float like a feather to the hallowed tiles.
Skating gleefully down and across.
Now the master of my own strings.
Anantha is a teen from Calgary, Canada. Anantha does most of his communication via typing or a letterboard. Creative writing gives Anantha great pride and solace; it is also how he shares his autistic experiences with the world. If you like his writing, you can click here to leave Anantha a tip.
Latest posts by Anantha Krishnamurthy (see all)
- Poetry: The Road. - October 19, 2022
- The Big Gag: Autism science and autistic heresy - April 18, 2022
- Ode to my autistic ancestors - December 14, 2021
2 Responses
An innocuous dream nears a muddled climax.
A morning dawns…
Anantha:
Your morning sounds exciting. I couldn’t wait to read the next line to learn that you’ve mastered your own strings. You engineer text words so well. Thank you for sharing poems with me and other publics.
Oh yes! The challenge of waking and getting the mind into the right groove! This is often my morning, too.