what is it to me?
that only I can see?
drunk by the unborn soul at birth?
A dent, a scratch
that devalued my worth?
A bolt from a complete machine
that keeps me doomed
from reaching your sweet?
A scarlet mark on my chest
to serve as a marker
for scorn from the rest?
A road to suicide
because one spirit
cannot see a way out this mess?
I see it as all
because I look not at what I was
but what I’ve become
I’m not what I’ve done
I’ve what I’ve overcome
A unique condition that challenges others
to accept what we give out sporadically
but challenges the autistic further
by forcing him or her
to accept what they are daily
See, others can chose to live us with us or not
but we must live with ourselves day after day
you can put on any mask and don any cape
try as we may, there is no other way
real autism doesn’t ask for money
because all the riches in the world
couldn’t buy us an once of normality
real autism only asks for your ears
that you listen to our wishes and fears
what we love and what we hate
why a pattern we are quick to replicate
and in time our words imprint on you something no
Benjamin could ever replace