“You are autistic”
First it is a diagnosis
Then it is a condition
Then they try to cure you
Then they give up on you
Then one day after years and years of trying to be someone else
You read a story
You hear a tale
You feel a song
And it is about you
Just as you are
The different have always been just that
The pagans called us the Changling
The christians called us the Fallen Angels
The priests called us Witches
Poets and musicians call us Lost Souls
The assholes and dickheads calls us Freaks
Spiritualists call us Indigos
And the psychologists and therapists call us Autistic
Yes I am different
I feel the world
I feel sounds
all over my back
along my arms
down my legs
I experience the world through quantum energies
Through in between places
Inside dark spaces
I close my eyes and see lights
I open them and see grand structures of possibilities
I look into your eyes and feel you
I feel your pain, your joy
And what you had for breakfast.
But why do you test and prod me?
Do you want to change me?
What are you afraid of?
I feel the click of a pen from the next room
on my ear drum
I feel the breath of a singer on the radio
tense my neck
No, don’t touch my feet.
I know of things I cannot touch or see
And am not surprised when strange things happen.
It just makes sense.
Today I know you are going to like my facebook post tomorrow
I know you are going to call me next week
While I sit — unknown.
I sense what will become
And I sense what has been
And it is all the same.
Call me names
But it makes no difference
I am still me.