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

 

Walking

without stopping

Walking

without thinking

Walking

without knowing

Walking

without hoping

Walking

expecting

that the distance will change

the appearance

expecting the time to change

the supposed

and expecting you to change

them

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!)

 

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