Age 17
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Off Track
I yell in my mind all the time.
People assume that I am chill and quiet.
There are times I want to blurt out an answer in class
But it always dwells inside unsaid, burning in my brain
Lots of times I can't control my unruly vexed body
Like it's on autopilot and the program is malfunctioning
Seems depressing to live with my disabilities everyday
However, it's all I've ever known so for me it's just the way I live
I want to announce I am on the autism spectrum
But most of you already knew that guy with headphones has autism
Since I basically can't speak
It was assumed coddling me in school
And a vocation of cleaning tables was my track
In reality, I'm intelligent and through typing
I can pursue my chosen track of poetry and writing
Which ironically is easier than cleaning for me
Like the paper that is easily put into the shredder
Then mindlessly recycled with paper of the same type
So often it is overlooked that the plain tedious paper
With careful folding can essentially emerge as elegant origami
The art of living is a working process.
Quite often, the tracks are laid for people.
We want to act like a victim.
We stand on a lazy rocking chair.
And want to flow with the tide.
But acting willfully requires work.
QUIT shouting about all the trivial things in life
and work on zoning your emotions.
The perfect tracks are the ones you define
Not the narrow-minded easy button of others
I went off my special needs tracks long ago.
Elusive Friendship
Really, doesn't everyone deserve a friend?
We are one of eight billion humans in the world
Each with our own quirks that make us perfect
To whom there heeds the perfect companion
The ideal pairing seems somewhat destined
Since there ought to be that pious someone
Who is willing to befriend an imperfect someone
Like Me
Really, doesn't everyone need a friend?
Even autism, with its pivotal feature of social cues
Usually amiss as we painfully lumber into the
Great forest of ambiguous rules and lingering doubts
About what the point of this admittedly bold idea was
Essentially, doling out the recurrent reality of the
ominous notion that a peer would ever befriend a person
Like Me
Really, doesn't everyone crave a friend?
Painfully, the mired communicator points to
Tired icons on a screen of words optimistically
Hoping that this time the onerous voice output sounds
Somewhat normal, moreover perfectly witty and wise
Alas, some glitch causes the plan to flounder as
I can't find the right word, incessantly use adjectives,
Quite quality, totally, endlessly, eerily punting
Like Me
Maybe, come to think of it, we don't need a friend?
Expectations of texts and gifts are a burden you say
The upkeep of friendship requires time and energy
Sometimes there is betrayal, secrets, and falling out
But the daunting obligations of being a good friend
Are outweighed by the glow of shared laughter and fun
Having a shoulder to cry on or a person to toss brave ideas to
Like Me
The perfect friend
is most clearly
Deserved
Wanted
and Craved
wholly
by someone
Like Me