The Last Motion Of My Aspergian Tragedy

wamtac

Long after the sun has gone down

and eyes have fallen to asleep

do I walk alone in my home

and my thoughts begin to creep

up the walls

down my spine

in and out this mind

that’s always thinking of the next rhyme

I open the door, and feel the midnight breeze

smell of crabs and shellfish, a salty sea

in my nostrils

and sitting down on cracked concrete steps

I let it all out

these steps saw windows shattered one Fourth of July

these steps saw a nest of baby robins go goodbye

these steps saw my brother taken away

these steps saw my mother betrayed day after day

these steps rarely saw me as a young boy

lost in Chronicles of Narnia, and Thomas toys

and growing older, I found a knack

for filling rooms with wooden railway track

and summer’s went by, without a care

of what I would become, or where I might go

just let me grab my gloves and boots and play

all afternoon in winter snow

but when I turned thirteen

my life become hell, and a fever dream

plagued me night and day

not knowing who I was

and why I might say things that really hurt

it was honesty to me, I knew nothing else

I didn’t care if others felt bad

I was a mess, a living tragedy

until one night something moved inside of me

a desire to be heard

a desire to be known

a desire to create something on my own

afraid to try something new, I wrote slowly at first

and terribly, at that

it was a bunch of seldom used words and crap

because I didn’t know how to listen to my soul

I didn’t know how to play my role

and silence turned to rage

at the sight of what I become

new diagnosis, but same fears

and newly cried tears

lined the storybook of my life

but then I met you

along with others in the blogosphere

and with tender words, you brought me near

and showed me the way

how to write with passion with poise

and how to speak in quiet whispers

yet cause a great noise

I became a better writer

thanks to you

and I learned more about myself

and I knew that while I may be on the spectrum

and slower than the rest

I was always encouraged by you

to give my best

I am grateful to everyone I’ve met online

because you gave me a second life

and bought me more time

to discover who I really am

you saw the real me,

I just needed to see it myself

you knew the real me,

I needed to take it off the shelf

I wear it proudly, I wear it with honor

this Aspergian label of mine

and regardless of your expectations

I will let it shine

and as I crawled back into bed

the sun’s light arising

I smiled inwardly

these heartbeats, I’d no longer be denying

 

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19 Replies to “The Last Motion Of My Aspergian Tragedy”

  1. Wonderful writing. Those old steps have seen so much over the years, and yet you being absent from them speaks volumes. Then you found your voice through your writing. A few days ago I wrote about the freedom of expression in the blog world ‘No Labels on WordPress’. I mentioned you at the end.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reblogged this on Secret First Draft: A Site of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and commented:
    Devereaux Frazier/

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    Aspergers, Poetry

    The Last Motion Of My Aspergian Tragedy

    ๏ŒƒMarch 25, 2017 ๏Œ„devereaux frazier ๏Œ€2 Comments

    wamtac

    Long after the sun has gone down

    and eyes have fallen to asleep

    do I walk alone in my home

    and my thoughts begin to creep

    up the walls

    down my spine

    in and out this mind

    thatโ€™s always thinking of the next rhyme

    I open the door, and feel the midnight breeze

    smell of crabs and shellfish, a salty sea

    in my nostrils

    and sitting down on cracked concrete steps

    I let it all out

    these steps saw windows shattered one Fourth of July

    these steps saw a nest of baby robins go goodbye

    these steps saw my brother taken away

    these steps saw my mother betrayed day after day

    these steps rarely saw me as a young boy

    lost in Chronicles of Narnia, and Thomas toys

    and growing older, I found a knack

    for filling rooms with wooden railway track

    and summerโ€™s went by, without a care

    of what I would become, or where I might go

    just let me grab my gloves and boots and play

    all afternoon in winter snow

    but when I turned thirteen

    my life become hell, and a fever dream

    plagued me night and day

    not knowing who I was

    and why I might say things that really hurt
    Devereaux Frazier/Creative Writing of a Baltimorean

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It’s like living in a parallel universe while physically seemingly being in the same. The challenge of connecting and making sense of how others live while others don’t seem to reach out. Oh, how different could it be if others withheld their reactions and reached out.
    It takes effort to begin to understand someone who is neurologically atypical. But it should be possible.

    Like

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