i am whatever you say

In the midst of the bustling crowd,

I stand alone, surrounded by their judgment,

Black clouds swirling above my head,

Each day a struggle to rise above the storm.

Chains of expectation bind me tight,

Restraining me from the freedom I seek,

Peace of mind eludes my grasp,

As I navigate this vigilant existence.

Doctors whisper diagnoses in hushed tones,

Madness they say, but I feel the pulse of sanity within,

Silence is misconstrued as emptiness,

While my laughter echoes with the label of insanity.

Autism they call it,

A word that echoes through the chambers of my soul,

But it is not a diagnosis, not a limitation,

It is the essence of my being, the fabric of my existence.

I refuse the poison they offer,

The pills that promise to "fix" what is not broken,

To stabilize the wild emotions that dance within me,

For I am not broken, merely different, beautifully unique.

I refuse to be silenced,

To be zombified by the drugs they push,

Seeking to mold me into their image of normalcy,

I am not a puzzle to be solved, but a masterpiece to be embraced.

In the chaos of society's expectations,

I find solace in the rhythm of my own heartbeat,

In the symphony of colors that dance before my eyes,

In the beauty of a mind that knows no bounds.

Yes, I may stumble along this path,

Tripping over the obstacles that others cannot see,

But with each fall, I rise stronger,

A phoenix emerging from the ashes of conformity.

So let the world label me as they may,

For I am not defined by their words,

But by the fierce light that burns within me,

A beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness.

I am autistic, hear me roar,

For I am not broken, but beautifully whole,

A masterpiece of chaos and beauty,

Unbound by the chains of society's expectations.

Dear Therapist,

Feel my pain, if you dare,

The hurt that echoes within my soul,

The tears that stain my cheeks,

As I grapple with thoughts that make me whole.

I long to escape, to fly high,

In the sky, where worries fade,

To drown my sorrows in clouds of smoke,

And find solace in a temporary glade.

But you, with your pills and diagnoses,

Label me as addicted, broken, flawed,

Yet do you truly understand the depths,

Of the battles I've fought and gnarled?

Therapist, do you truly care,

Or is it just a paycheck you seek?

To listen to my woes for an hourly rate,

Would you still lend me your ear if I were weak?

If there were no dollar signs to chase,

No hourly wage to pad your purse,

Would you still be here to listen,

Or would my words become a silent curse?

For I am more than just a check to you,

More than a name on your appointment sheet,

I am a soul in need of understanding,

A heart seeking solace in the beat.

So do me a favor, if you please,

And leave me to my own devices,

For I'd rather face my demons alone,

Than be just another entry in your devices.

Sincerely,

the diagnosis

P.S -In the quiet moments, I reflect, dear Momma,

Apologies whispered, tears unshed,

For I'm not the flawless portrait you sought,

But a canvas painted with scars instead.

I'm sorry, Momma, for the imperfections,

For the stumbles, the falls, the wrong turns taken,

But I'll never sacrifice the essence of my being,

To mold into a form that's not my own making.

For I am who I am, unapologetically me,

A mosaic of dreams, flaws, and desires,

I'll dance to the rhythm of my own heartbeat,

And set my soul ablaze with inner fires.

I may not fit the mold you envisioned,

But in my authenticity lies my strength,

I'll chase my dreams, regardless of opinion,

For my happiness, I'll go to any length.

So forgive me, Momma, for not being perfect,

But I'll never betray the essence of who I am,

In the pursuit of someone else's idea of happiness,

I'll hold fast to my truth, unblemished and grand.