“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

O.K.

The different have always been just that

Different

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?

Click.

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

Or explain.

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.

Unknown.

Grey.

Constant.

Call me names

But it makes no difference

I am still me.

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