This is a poem that isn’t a poem, a defiance against an order, a declaration that shouldn’t exist because some places are not meant to be profaned by words.
“It turns out that there are ways for me to be the one giving myself orders instead. Harnessing the energy of automatic obedience can, on a good day, transform chronic catatonia from a weakness into a strength.”
When spoken language is your primary social survival skill, selective mutism is terrifying to experience. How Johnny Profane ended up with “alcohol abuse” on his record while stone sober.
The media paints a picture of Aspies that is incorrect. We are thought to be disruptive, burdensome, and downright dangerous. That’s what outsiders want you
The drive from Wellington, Florida to Chicago takes nineteen hours for a family of average luck. Two days between the promise of a new adventure
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