An Aspergians Thoughts On A Pageant And Old Memories


Biggest attraction of pageants?

Not trophies.

Or banners.

Or crowns.

It’s the girls. I mean, obviously, but I enjoy watching the pageant (despite my hatred of crowds and public places) becaus I get to see how personable people communicate and imteract with others. I don’t have to ask any questions. I can just sit back and take mental notes. I have the benefit of my sister competing so I don’t look like a stalker (not that I’ve ever cared), and I get tips from her as well.

However, I’m not writing to or for pageant girls. I’m written my because they reminded me of a friend I had. It’s sobering, thinking how far I’ve come since then. No, we didn’t work, and I think about what went wrong and what might’ve been. I’m always thinking about those bad memories. Those memories where it happens, I forget, something triggers it and then I can’t forget.

I would’ve used her name, but it makes me feel bad. Like I failed a human being. Anyway, to the poem…

She’s cute
Real. Cute.
She’s got perfect teeth
and that killer smile
She’s got thick, curly blonde hair
for a California mile
Back to the smile
It’s the sweetest I’ve ever seen
When she throws in a wink
it’s an ethereal dream
It shines
for eternity
Brighter than any star
in all its glory
I won’t even get started
on her curves
not because
I’m not a perv
but because she’s
so perfect
that she demands utter respect
She’s worth it
How about
her hips
with every step
they curve and dip
in that black mini dress
so well
and as she leans over
my eyes swell
Her legs
just go and go and go
and as I’m thinking
I really want to know
What her name is
and why she’s here
but where others are emboldened
I’m full of fear
One day
I’ll go
take her hand
and say “I know”
Long story short
I let a lot of girls go
because despite my longing
I just let them go
I got Aspergers man
I’m too shy to ask
despite my gut


An Aspergian’s Anger At His Own Anger


Sometimes, I get very fed up with myself. If I’m not feeling guilty and depressed because of my weaknesses, I’m feeling angry about them. There’s no happy medium for me regarding my aspergian tendencies, how they cause me to feel, and what follows suit. I feel angry a lot of times, and I fight with myself mentally all the time.

“That girl said hi to you and you didn’t even respond. Are you crazy?”

“Dude, that chick is hot man. Why didn’t you go talk to her.”

“Bruh, she saw you tense up. No girl is gonna want a shy guy.”

“Dev. You’re telling me you can’t shake someone’s hand?”

“You’re stuttering. You’re fidgeting. God damn it she’s moved on.”

There are many more examples, but these are just a few of the things that run through my mind when I’m out there (and failing) trying to be a normal person. I sometimes wonder why I try at all. I’m a horrid actor, yet I’m afraid that if I just said I’m on the spectrum, people would shy away from me more than what they already do. It’s a saddening proposition, and it only makes the pain worse.

WRITING TO THE RESCUE…eh, maybe not…

This is a really bad song (don’t know why it came out this way), but I actually felt satisfied after writing it. I’m thinking “Damn it, Devereaux. You wrote this stupid ass song that nobody is going to understand, and yet you feel empowered by it. What am I do with this?”

Truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve never written a song before, and there’s no music to this (I’m a poet, not a musician), but I hope you get something from it and maybe you can see where I’m coming from. That’s why I write: to open the kinds, ears, and hearts of those not on the spectrum to those that are. 

You had your chance

and you blew it

You had your chance

and you knew it

Wake up feeling down

Down a couple pills

And now excuse me, if you will

but I can’t be with you now

Baby, I know your name

but I don’t know what you like

And baby, I know your name

but you’re not in my sight

You try to break me open

and I tighten up more

You could beat me, beat me like a filthy convict

and I’d still be numb, even with the open sores

You could love me, love me like Venus

and I still couldn’t hold you, my life

just can’t see your love, your reasons,

your thinking just isn’t my type

You had your chance

blew it harder than a porn star

You had your chance

knew it like Marcel Petiot behind bars

I’m writing to you

From the East Coast to Big Ben

All along I knew,

but I held on like a guilty pleasure, a sin

that could never be pardoned

No blood could reverse

this burden, this marking

that eats away like a curse

I wish I could go back

to the day that we crossed paths

Reverse this time, damn

me for ever falling for your ass

That body, I’d never seen before

and a smile

that I’d get down my knees for

This story didn’t have an end

Just us living on

But now I know that it wasn’t to be

there was an end to this song

I wish things ended differently

that we’d find us

But it ended like it started, quickly

falling, kneeling in the dust

I had your chance

and I blew it

You had your chance

and you knew it


(IF you have any suggestions on what kind of music would go with this, or lyrical suggestions, please leave them in the comment section below)

California Blues: An Aspergian’s Exhaustion With Guilt




I never really left, but this is my first post in six days because I couldn’t get consistent wifi on the cross country bus trip to California, and this is the first time I’ve been able to use a device that could actually support WordPress. I’ve gotten some nice pictures, and I’m extra stoked because my sister’s competitions start today.

I haven’t been handling the people pressure, though. There’s thousands of people at this pageant, and because the city is so busy (thanks Disneyland) I don’t have anywhere I can escape it all. It’s depressing me, and I feel awful. I know, “you shouldn’t feel sorry for something you can’t control”, but every time I go out and see all these personable, outgoing people I can’t help but feel wrong…



Just plain stupid…

I’ve been writing a lot,  which has helped immensely, but it can’t taken away the ache and pain of this guilt that overwhelms me.


It’s stressful, but what choice do I have? Jump into the Pacific Ocean? I can’t do that. I mean, I could, but I’m not ready to end my life. That’s too finite, and I would feel awful leaving the people I love without any explanation. Besides, killing myself doesn’t fix anything and I become an awful example to all those who have my problems, and live on. Tomorrow…tomorrow…I have to see it, because it might hold my redemption.

I’m gonna put my defenses up, cause I don’t wanna fall in love. If I ever did that, I think I’d have a heart attack. Seriously, forget girlfriends/wife/etc, it’s not happening. Hopefully I’ll stop writing about it and write about something that I’ll actually experience.

Love you, Demi xoxoxo


Eyes straddle the swaying hips

of death

and even when the knife plunges deep

I bask in her loving breath


I have nothing else to love

but memory

and even memory

betrayed me for another

Another lover that loved

the way it was expected

Who could function normally

without being corrected

I was left empty

forgotten by all

remembered by none

and yet it was this

plentiful emptiness

that made me feel full


All this time

little did I realize

I was bleeding out

bleeding from the hell

bleeding from the heart

of everything I tried to ignore

I needed love

I needed her

I just didn’t know

how to ask


Wake me up

before I fall

before I become a victim

t0 the mess of it all

Don’t sing me a song

I’m too far away to hear those tunes

Mortal words cannot pierce these walls of eternal abyss

Don’t read me a story

I’m too deep within my own

Mortal man cannot break the spell




for spirit can still reach me

for hope is still near me




before I




Poetry Collection Inspired By The Walters Art Museum

Since I won’t be attending WAMTAC tomorrow (I’m really upset by that), I’ve compiled all my poetry that I’ve written there so far. These poems were inspired by the above pictures.

As I sit on the rock

warmed by the midday sun

I think about what I’m leaving behind

“Don’t leave me and Carson!”

I have to!”

“I know what you’ve done.”

I know. But I promise…

I promise you I’ll return under the summer sun.”

“But which one? I can’t bear the thought of being without you.”

“I don’t know. I may be gone but a short time, or it may be long.”

How will I know you’re okay?”

“When the crab of the night sings its song.”

What does that mean,

I don’t understand!”

“There is so little time, I must go

to the place of purple sands.”

“Then…then at least kiss me before you go.”

“You know I can’t do that, Heidi”

“Why not?”

“I have to be focused, hiding.”

I remember holding her head,

one single, golden braid in hand

before I turned my back on her

and departed my land



and pennies for wishes


and dresses for kisses

Nothing but a windmill and church

to our right

So I’ll be under your window later

let’s come back tonight


Looking down the rocky slope

running faithlessly low on hope

I came here with a minuscule dream

yet, here I am, standing in the middle of a heart-warming scene

Running water, trees

a community! My heart cannot believe

that such an ending is possible

to a journey that was so impossible


The despair

is in the emptiness

The pain

is in the liveliness

of the sadness, of child

eternally bound with

mother, as in the womb

they are floating

in a sea of everything

If I could only

reach out and ease their pain

If only there was a potion

for the spell of death

For nothing they ever knew

would ever come true

cut off before

they could see the light


(Author’s Note: I took these pictures during my WAMTAC (Walters Art Museum Teen Art Council) meeting that takes place every Thursday from 4:30 to 6:30pm.Our group leader, Miss Kelly Laughin (top left picture, arms folded) is an incredible teacher, instructor, and friend. I joined by recommendation, and with a belief that this wasn’t for me. That quickly changed. She, along with my fellow artists, made our meetings an open and encouraging environment, regardless of background. Even though I’m not an “artist”, I joined because writing is one of the arts. I didn’t really enjoy being in museums before, but WAMTAC helped broaden my view. Now, I find it fun and exciting. I wasn’t assigned to take pictures, but I felt inspired to write.What better to do after looking at art than creating art?  You can visit Baltimore’s best art museum (in my opinion) Wednesday-Sunday 10 a.m.-5 p.m., and Thursdays 10 a.m.-9 p.m.)


My First Mystery Blogger Award Nomination

“Mystery Blogger Award” is an award for amazing bloggers with ingenious posts.  Their blog not only captivates; it inspires and motivates.  They are one of the best out there and they deserve every recognition they get.  This award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging and they do it with so much love and passion. – Okoto Enigma 

The award was created by Okoto Enigma.  Here is the link:

First off, I want to say a big THANK YOU to This is my first blogger award nomination, and I’m honored that someone would consider my blog. It’s hard being anxious/scared/afraid/used/angry and all the other things that come with living my aspergian life, and it’s even harder trying to put it into words. There are few people I like to be around, and even fewer that I think about, but those people keep me going. Tenacity T has been a gift to me; a voice that calls at the end of the dark tunnel. I’ve only been following her recently, but I’m glad that I did, because my days just wouldn’t be the same. She’s incredibly sweet (and gorgeous). Sometimes, it’s not always about understanding where somebody is. Eventually, you’ll get to a place where no one can understand you, but when you find people that are willing to even hear you, it makes all the difference in the world.

Rules For The Nominees:

  • Display the award logo on your blog.
  • List the Rules.
  • Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  • Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well.
  • Tell your readers three things about yourself.
  • Answer five questions from the nominee.
  • Nominate anywhere from ten to twenty bloggers.
  • Notify the bloggers by leaving a comment on their blog.
  • Ask your nominees any five questions of your choice, including one weird or funny question.
  • Share the link to your best post.

Three Things About Myself….

1. My celebrity crushes are as follows. Dakota was a childhood favorite, while I started liking Becky a few years ago. I love Ellie’s and Demi’s music, and they’re gorgeous. Demi, like myself, was homeschooled. Simply, they are p-e-r-f-e-c-t.

2. I love the Kansas City Chiefs. I’ve been a fan since 2009, and no, I don’t want to hear about the Super Bowls. If you can only root for a team that’s constantly winning Super Bowls, you aren’t much of a fan. Sure, it’s easy to be a fan of a team that trots out a golden boy quarterback every week, but how about one that’s had more starting quarterbacks in the last six years than it does playoff wins? Through our wretched 2-14 season, to our current 7-2 record (TIED FOR BEST IN THE AFC WEST), and everything in between, I love my boys in red and gold. I need to find more Chiefs fan bloggers on here…

3. I write about love, women, and girls a lot because I don’t know what it’s like to befriend one. I’m always thinking about what could be, what could have happened, or what I could have done to change things. My memories inspire much of my work, and I try to capture those moments in their purest form.

Five Questions Asked By Tenacity T

  1. Who is the most important or influential person in your life?

The Christ. He’s the reason why I have life.

2. What if you had three wishes, would you use them for yourself or others?

Great question. I’d use them for others.

3.  Where in the world would you live if you had the choice?

Part of me screams “KANSAS CITY!”, but Canada appeals to me as well. Or Ireland.

4. When did you start writing?

I started writing when I was 13, because I needed an outlet for my aspergian voice

5. Why do you write?

I find myself lost most of the time, and with so few who understand, writing is a release from all the stupid cares and wishes of a world that doesn’t accept me. It’s my high when I’m low, my crutch when I can’t walk any further, my rest when I can’t sleep, and my best friend when I need an ear.

My Nominees are:

My five questions to my nominees:

1. Who’s your celebrity crush? (Or favorite celebrity, if you don’t have one)

2. What’s your favorite song?

3. What’s your fondest memory?

4. Out of all the days in a week, which one do you like the least?

5. Could you live without blogging?

Here is a link to my best post:

An Aspergian’s Revolt Against A Neurotypical World



and ice


more than twice

Beat you

to the punch

yet I was murdered

twice as much

Thought I could

show myself to you

but the only thing that happened

was that I was used by you

You took my strengths

and made them a target

on my back and displayed

my weakness, a market

of pain

and fear

of red eyes

and tears

I could never

show my face again

because my heart

has been rent

in two

no, four

the free-spirited boy you knew

no more

Now I hate

the light of day

and loathe

when people say

“Devereaux, how are you doing today?”

Please, spare me your shit

Autism is made up, remember?

You don’t mean it, and you know it

I’d rather be alone

and friendless

than among the company of panderers


pretending to care about my needs

when they can’t spell my name

pretending to know me

but their actions remain the same

Go ahead

talk your shit

but I’ll boil till the brim 

and strike you quick


September 28, 2016: An Aspergian’s Reflection



Just three days till I leave for California, and I’m very excited. Not for the beaches ( I hate water), or the girls (we’ve been down this road), but for the experience. I’ll be going cross country and seeing so much of the beauty this country has to offer. I’m giddy at the thought of what I’m going to write.

Honestly, that’s how I look at most things I do. “Can I turn this into a poem?” is, seriously, one of the first things I think about before I do something. It mays seem crazy, but that’s how I think. Even if it’s something that I hate (like going somewhere where I know there will be lots of people), sometimes I can make myself go if I can get some prose out of it. Whatever gets you through, right?

Anyway, about this poem. I wrote this after a particularly rough day and I felt like dying. I don’t know what happened, or what was said, I was just having a sad day. A lot of times, when I’m having bad days, I have to just sit down and reflect. Sometimes my reflection makes me sadder (and yet happier, because I’ve recognized the problem, which s0metimes is sadder than what I was already sad about), but other times it takes me somewhere else entirely. I think this is one of those moments….


Let me start first

by saying

I never quite understood your thirst

for wanting to be alone

You have a sister, a brother

A struggling father, yes,

but an ever-dependable mother

and not just a house, but a home

Maybe the neighborhood wasn’t the best

True, but I can think of worse

At least you had a place to rest

without the words “city” or “county” attached to it

You were kinda banged up

I remember the wheelchairs, the endless white sheets

You hung tough

and it made me better, made you better

You didn’t know who you were

Tried to find it in

videos and pictures of her

and everywhere besides where you should

Now, let me apologize

because much of what you saw

were lies

and yet you were never convinced

There was a spark in you

a desire, a light

that came on in you

and I wanted you to let it shine

I made you

go to broadcasting camp

even though we both knew

you’d never make it

I made you

take voice lessons

even though we knew

you were flat

You failed at these

(This you know)

When you failed to see

I had to help you

Your ears started to open

You started to get it

As the words kept flowin’

You started the football blog

You loved to read

I made sure of it

because this skill you would need

very, very soon

One morning you wanted to be

a writer

And I could see

the clouds parting above you

So you went to writers camp

found your niche

and left unsure of your impact, your stamp

but that’s okay, you’re getting started

You started writing

and you loved it

New things you started trying

like fiction, some didn’t work

Aspergers, you used to hate

but three award-winning pieces later

you see how much you can relate

when you let yourself go

You attended writers camp again

this time, with a little fire

You had your own little spin,

because I was controlling your top

Let the emotions flow,

no matter how they come out

Let your anxiety go,

for once!

This was your last year

You left your mark

all-in-all conquering fear

How I love how much you’ve changed

From this shy,

reclusive teen

who’s overwhelming response, to cry

and wish to die

To someone

who knows who he is, what he can do

and no one

can take his joy

Okay, you’re still shy

reclusive, and quiet

but now you know why

and you’re okay with that, now

You’re still ways away

and that might discourage you

but I’ll be there, whenever you pray

Don’t let that escape you

Don’t be afraid

and don’t worry about that girl

She’ll find you some day

just trust me, like you used to

An Aspergian’s Thoughts On Anger


I can be a very angry person. It doesn’t take much, either. It’s not a chip on the shoulder thing, but rather an aspergian thing. The common misconception about us is that we are emotionless, but the reality is that we feel emotion VERY deeply. Now, whether that’s happiness, sadness, or anger depends on the day. I’m rarely on the high end of happiness, but it’s the sadness or anger that really swings. Some days, like a couple weeks ago, the mere mention of a single word can make me tear up in an instant. Other weeks, it’s the exact opposite. I used to have an anger problem as a kid. I remember being six or seven and just uncontrollable. I broke things, I smashed things, and I made an all around mess when things didn’t go in a way I didn’t understand. Much of it was because of things my dad would do, and I fault it was justified, but as I grew up I realized I couldn’t let someone drive me to such madness, even if he was wrong. Nowadays, thanks to more prayer (and writing) it’s not much of problem, but every once and a while it flares up and I have to remember the verse “do not let the sun go down on your anger”.

What’s also troubling is when the anger and sadness combine. Yes, that can happen. I can be angry about something, and then I find myself in a corner bawling my eyes out. That’s happened too many times to remember. I don’t know how it happens, but aspergians are more emotional than we get credit for, and the overwhelming chaos is sometimes too much. Other times, I can be crying and then I become a raging fireball. That’s happened before too. I get upset over something, and I go from vulnerable to overly aggressive. It’s caught some by surprise, but it often leaves me wasted, and I often revert back to sadness because the emotions range so far, so quickly, I can’t keep up.

People ask what makes me angry. There’s not a lot, because some things I don’t register. Meanness makes me angry, as does lying and semantics. Memories make me angry, too. I hate to think of my kid days, because I remember so many of the bad things I get worked up.  Politics also makes me angry, mainly because of the blatant ignorance and stupidity of many involved, but also because I’m black and thus I have to be democrat and hate anything conservative.

This will probably be the last “An Aspergian’s Thoughts On…” post for a bit, because I’ve got a lot more poems that don’t deal so much with Aspergers. Thursday is also drawing near, and I can’t wait to share photos and poetry regarding my trip with you. I’ve received a lot of positive feedback, and I’m grateful to all of you who have taken the time to read through my shyness and confusion and listen to the message I’m trying to say. The kind words are really fun to wake up to, and when I’m feeling down (which is often, like, right now), they make my day a little easier to traverse.


Let all your bad dreams

become her paralyzing fear

Let all your unrequited desire

become her deathbed wishes

Let all your tears

become her drowning whirlpool of kisses

Let all your lonely nights

become her sunny day, cloudy and drear

Let your noose

become her handcuffs

Let your cupped hands

become her muffler


Blue sky

green trees

is what I used to see

before crimson skin

and black heart

possessed me

I used to see

big smiles

and bright light

before brown-stained tiles

and black bands

escalated my fright

I used to see

open hands

and willing hearts

before time

and fatal friends

tore me apart

Now I see burn marks in rugs

from candles knocked on the floor


but forgettable

because I won’t see them anymore

Now I see melted skin

from lighters gone awry


and memorable

because I can’t forget a lie


An Aspergian’s Thoughts On Loneliness


This is one of the more challenging emotions of Aspergers. It’s the worthless, lifeless feeling that you can have when you’re the oddest, weirdest, and most unlike anyone else in the places that you frequent in your daily life. I don’t do the things most people do my age (My life occupation is a writer, despite being in an age group that sees writing as a waste of time), I don’t say the things most teens say (you won’t find me using text lingo, or using much profanity), and I don’t do what most teens do (writing poetry, reading classical literature, and tweeting about Aspergers). I am not ashamed of what I’ve chosen to fill my life, but it only compounds the loneliness I already suffer. I don’t relate to many teens, because I’m so different, and it makes it that much harder to make friends. To teens these days, who go out, have other friends, do “fun” things, and have endless things to talk about, my latest poem seems rather boring, and coming from someone like me, completely not worth their time. I don’t know how to make myself seem “cool”, so I recluse to the back of the room and wait to be called on. Maybe it’s not about being cool, I understand that, but it seems like I’m always forgotten. People don’t remember me, even if go the same places over and over. I know its the aspergers, and my very quiet demeanor makes me easy to forget, but that doesn’t lessen the pain. It’s a horrid feeling for someone to remember your family members, but forget you, even though you all went out together.

On to the poetry….


I wish they saw me

and I could stand out

I wish they heard me

above me my boiling doubt

I try to scream out

but I’m barely heard

above my broken heart

and those unshakable verbs

“Shy”, “depressed”, and “cold”

I can’t say my name

“You’re weird,” I’m told

and every day is the same

Have you ever been told

that you’re rude

for no other reason

than that they don’t understand you?

The pain is real

and it has no name

You will never feel

this burning rain

and thunderstorm of sadness

that I can’t escape

it leads to madness

and drives me to date

the loving curves of knives

and the beating heart

of a scared life



without stopping


without thinking


without knowing


without hoping



that the distance will change

the appearance

expecting the time to change

the supposed

and expecting you to change


I live more

when stopping

and letting others

walk by

I see what

they could never

(Note: I’m getting published on Spillwords (AGAIN) and I’ll be sharing it with you once it’s posted. Stay tuned!)


An Aspergian’s Thoughts On Anxiety



I’m very, very excited to tell you that I’ll be leaving Maryland this Thursday for California for my sister’s pageant (which you can read more about here, and I would be honored by your donation).  While this is going to be an amazing experience (and my second time there), I cannot outrun my Aspergian tendencies.

The nerves will be real.

I’m going cross-country. On a bus with people I don’t know. From states I’ve never been to. For nearly three days. For someone like me, that’s like walking into a room full of black widows, locking the door, and then setting yourself on fire. People grate my nerves like cheese, and then expect me to be a functioning part of society. It’s unfair, really, because it’s not something I can control. I am appalled at the amount of people, and the notion, that assumes that anxiety (and the problems that come with it) are our problem and we’re simply rude people. I’ve been told that before, and hurt me to my core. If only they knew, if only they knew….

You’ve done this before, people say, but in our reality, it doesn’t matter how many times we do something. Nothing’s ever the same twice, and while I can guess what might happen, I’ll never know exactly because it’s 2016, not 2015. I hate the anxiety I get, because it keeps me from being who I really am. I close up, shut down, and become the walking dead. I ignore everyone, even the people closest to me, because the anxiety is a hostile takeover. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll have plenty of time to write. Hopefully that’ll quell the pain…

So, in preparation of my upcoming trip, I wrote these poems…


The day is gone

I missed you

The night will be long

I missed you

Sweaty hands writing anxious letters

I missed you

Chest weighed down with unsaid words

I missed you

Head stuffed with promises you never heard

I missed you

I could reveal


Knock, knock

who’s there

no, why do I ask

you’re just going to give me another grievous task

Tick tock

I’m here

future is on the spot

I laugh, I joke, at the future I could have bought

but I didn’t want

because I was too afraid

too afraid to take control of my life

yet equally afraid to cleanse the strife


Hands over my ears

as you give life to my fears

I’m trying to hear nothing

and yet everything is too much