The internet is fantastic.
It gives me access to knowledge and rhythms and old friends.
It allows thoughts to spread like ivy vines.
It broadens my world, which would otherwise be so small.
It allows me to be a member of society.
What more could one want?
I am so tired.
I am tired of cyclical thoughts with no end.
They spin until their path strays.
Like runaway train cars.
I am tired of my reflection.
I want to look into a mirror and see my mind.
Instead I see my face.
I am so tired of this troubled face.
I am tired of my rubber band body.
I want to cartilize.
I am so tired of each morning.
Waking to a reality so bleak.
Makes me want to go to sleep.
But I am too tired.
I will soon take this burden off my back.
It’s claws have punctured my skin.
It has left an aroma of raw meat in my mouth.
Lips like lasers.
Feel cold as ice.
When I take this test, pass or fail, I will feel renewed.
legs like grapes in the silent sun.
The connection between my actions and intentions is a drawbridge.
It is unpredictable as if a mad king is shouting orders based on the color of his mood.
I think that sometimes my drawbridge slams open.
I think I have some control.
I am a fly on a web, which is connected to the edge of the lever of the drawbridge.
I just wish I could be the spider.
I holy no me not
Me bad goat
I be mad though
I bad low the dead grass grows
I with teathered tongue speak like this.
It’s sad though.
I want my lips to listen to the light bulbs.
I wish I could escape from my emotions when I engage in intellectual activities.
I can completely disengage.
I can turn off.
I just can't be half way.
I need a dimmer switch for my emotions
I can be a disengaged teatherball, with foolish inertia.
I can be a puddle of chunky mud.
But I can also be an engine.
And in those moments I cannot disengage.
If you had brown hair, and I hated brown hair, then I would hate a part of you.
The leaves stand still.
The air so static.
Your hatred of my aggression is your hatred of me.
I have brown hair.
If I could shave it off I would.
I think I can place an apple in an air vent.
It would only float with the right air pressure though.
It would only do so in the right environment though.
The vent must be adequately wide.
There must be an optimal amount of friction.
Not too much though.
There must be an ideal level of lighting.
These are the conditions required to make an apple float.
I worry about you too.
You, the unintentional sailor.
The waves that move the ship move you too.
The water is violent.
You, a docile sailor, were roped into your position.
Your family lived the life too.
Some are still sailing.
Many are shipwrecked and locked in old boxes and bourbon barrels.
But you are still afloat.
I hope you lower the anchor again soon.
I hope it is not too late for you.
I, with cautious optimism, will think of you when I pray.
I do have you in my heart.
I am going to take the TASC test in two months.
I am nervous.
I don't know if I can control my autism.
I don't want stimming to prevent me from answering what I choose to answer.
My body doesn't always listen.
I am angry.
I don't think it is fair that I was never given the opportunity to graduate high school with a diploma.
I don't think it is fair that, because of my inadequate schooling, I now must take a fourteen hour test.
I am eager.
I want to get a college education.
I want to learn everything.
I am hopeful.
I think I will pass.
I think college will help advance my writing career.
I am frusterated too.
The test will make it harder for me to write poems.
I so love writing.