Contents:
See also: Dave Spicer's Website
Autistic Identity
They ask me questions.
Carefully, I answer, so deliberate, explaining
Once again the sense in why I do things as I do.
They show me aspects of "the world"
like cheating, violence, lies, deceit,
and tell me I must know all this
to function in it. Simply put,
They cannot see the path I follow.
Me, I know it's there - it doesn't seem
like home somehow, but nowhere does, and look what
their religion says - to "be not of this world but in it".
That's about
just how it is
and how it goes
this path that leads a different way
that what they'd hoped for.
Then they cry - I see the track
a tear makes down a face, and wonder
why they aren't at peace. The weather's
not so bad inside here, really, kind of quiet
watching through the window, seeing, hearing,
sitting, thinking, contemplating all the noise outside
They say "that's how the world is".
Fine, but their frustration,
living in that world, gives pause
to folks like me who feel their pulling
hear their pleas
receive their training
all designed
so we can "join them" -
do we have to? There?
Copyright © 1996 Dave Spicer
A Poem on Communication
(directed to NTs)
So I'm supposed to think like you
in order to relate to you -
my words have got to be just right
to save your precious mind some work.
Instead of seeing where I am,
you're only looking where I'm not,
expecting me to scurry over
Right to where your gaze is fixed.
But I don't want to live in that place,
all pretending, imitating,
guessing what's expected of me
jumping hoops relentlessly
So here's the deal: listen to me,
Try to stretch your minds a little,
Break the mold I can't fit into,
Set communication free.
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