I always struggle to write poetry specifically about autism. How do you write about a process? You end up bogged down in the behaviours that result from it, instead of the thing you were trying to focus on.
These are last night’s headscribbles. I hope you enjoy them.
When I try to write
About the autistic
My brain slips.
Because it isn’t in the eye
Or the ear;
It’s the bit between there and here.
The interlocking process,
The wandering thoughts,
It’s the aggravation at derailment,
It’s the creased brow,
It’s the losing the thread in the billions of threads
But finding yours in seconds,
It’s the cleanness of honesty,
And the curled lip at deception,
It’s the spoon that dips in and scoops out the words,
It’s the taste of wood sorrel,
It’s following a bumble bee,
It’s putting all the pieces together in an instant
But not knowing which one to pick up first,
It’s the hum of the lights,
It’s the love of the movement,
It’s the passion of my passions,
It’s in the love, and the love, and the love.
Point at the autism.
The autism’s the finger,
A point and a linger.
A distraction cuts through and it all drifts away.
Words and words and words don’t always need a say.
Maybe listen with more than ears
If all you have are communi-fears,
Find another way.
Caught as Rhi,
Always flipping tired.