Your
processes and procedures
Your
solutions
Exposed
Scrutinised
Observed
Tested
In your interrogations
Your harsh light
I wilt
My soft places and shadows
Exposed
Vulnerable
I want to withdraw
To hide
In shadows
I can speak
My voice soars
Movement flows
Wild flowers grow
In my soft places
Humming
Gentle rain
Soothes my vocal chords
So I can sing
Flowers are spoken
Tumble out
In your light
I become dry and hard
Eventually
I cannot move
I cannot see
Or speak
You tear off a small part of my dried skin
Creating an open wound
You believe I cannot feel
Under a microscope
My intricate maps now dried and distorted
You fix markers
For others to follow
But miss the fossilised patterns of flowers and leaves
You see me
Hard and dry
And turn away from my croaked words
I hear you
Still talking about solutions
For me
IMAGE Photo of a small piece of bark with lichen growing on it, on a white background.
#autism #autistic
A poem about difference and pathologising narratives
