#neurodivergent poet

[love-ardour-anarchism]

<Untitled Poem>

I have no intentions to age gracefully I will be loud I will be proud I’ll be a thorn inside your hegemonic flesh

I had no intentions to live past my sweet seventeens A coffin lid viewed from below was on my bucket list and yet I made it out alive and stranger yet I have found life and love for my damned self and though I scarcely can believe it I’m going on to 30 and I’m still the same

So strange and weird So loud and queer and I refuse to yield to systems of injustice nor will I yield to your damned norms

My existence is a testament to many things to privilege and luck for certain but also to resourcefulness and to survival against odds that saw me dead at seventeen and now that I am an adult I aim that I’ll let others see how I have built a life worth living in and I have carved myself from rotten flesh of what society had deemed to be my place

I have no intentions to age gracefully nor in a manner dignified I have all intentions to grow old as I am now unwavering in my foolish rebellion empathic to the struggles of the world kind and loud and soft and proud and when my gravestone reads my name I want it to denote that it is one I chose not one that I was given without my consent

And when I die it may as well be gently striding into the eternal night but I will know that what I leave behind is light from all injustices that I torched all my life

.SCRR

[a-queer-crip-writes]

“It’s not you that’s unreliable; it’s your health”

the meme says; it means it kindly, of course

to spare the complete and responsible human

struck down by blameless calamity

the burden of judgement,

but the absurdity of it strikes me continuously

As if “my health” were not me;

as if it were an entirely separate

creature that writhes

stuck to a couch by sweat

bands of iron pain narrowing its world to an oubliette;

as if it were its limbs filled with lead and turned

water-weak on broken-elastic joints.

Not me at all.

The truth of course is sadly

that I never really achieved “reliability”;

though not through want of trying; when

my health and I were indivisibly one thing

I mostly achieved a decent semblance of it

by dint of doing three or four

times more work than genuinely reliable people

for a slightly wonkier result; working

myself to panicky exhaustion

(or what I called exhaustion then)

for the privilege of achieving Talented But Lazy.

I never truly appreciated how

much I achieved by Just Doing More

until that was no longer an option; how

very Unreliable I became when

I could no longer throw everything

at a Simple Task Anyone Could Just Do

until I broke it through the raw weight of effort

Now, of course, I am indisputably Unreliable.

One manages chronic fatigue by pacing;

I laugh gut-wrenchingly at this often

There could hardly be a thing

more alien to my nature, or indeed

my learned survival techniques; but it is

the only way out of the oubliette, so

I push it like a stone door slab,

shifting, winning scraps of life by

bleeding-fingered inches.

Once again, the hardest work

possible to achieve

Laziness and Unreliability.

[yvepaints]

Welcome to my humble Tumblr abode 🎨

#yvepaints = original posts

#art tutorial = RBs of helpful tidbits

everything else = unsorted

Scroll a spell 🖼️

[stardusttodustpoetry]

Alex

Alex, there’s something slithering inside me that I can’t get out!

It’s too large to regurgitate, if I cough it up, I’ll choke,

The snake’ll bite my tongue and block my trachea.

You magician, did you do this to me?

I stall and compress myself against a bathroom stall wall

And cry and shake and cry.

I have read poems about sadness and anger and fear

And I exist as none of them; I am just tears.

I am walking a cloudy slack rope between ecstasy and despair

And you are a fog machine; you mix the paint in my soul into an unrecognisable brown.

You turn my organs to mist, me into a ghost.

I say I’m fine, is it a lie if I don’t know the truth?

If you’ve stolen my comparative words?

My friends, whom I love more than I could possibly describe,

Without resigning to scribe a million more convoluted metaphors,

Say they feel like shit, sinking.

Is that it? Does that fit?

I thought I was happy, but how can you be happy

When your face keeps shifting in the mirror?

Alex, you thief, you are stealing me!

[sleeplessv0id]

does anyone else love stickers but never use them because you're too afraid to waste them.

[darkpoetryshop]

Cannibalism is a metaphor for love

[maybe-itsforthebest]

- j (x)

[mandiweirdmore]

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines resilience as “tending to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change”

I hear I am resilient quite often for dealing with a disability. It is phrased as if it is a compliment, as if not all disabled people are resilient. The thing is when you’re disabled you don’t have a choice. It is resilience or death. In a world not made for us we must adjust because no one else is going to change it. Next time you call a disabled person resilient think about why we must fight so hard to adjust. Most public transit such as the MTA and MTBA have no elevator but are down a flight of stairs. Remote jobs and school were not widely accessible until a world wide pandemic that affected all people and not just the disabled community. Why must we wait to make things accessible until it affects everyone, when most people will become disabled in their life time. Disabled are resilient but we most certainly shouldn’t have to be.

[autumnsunshine10]

What was I

When monsters performed

Pirouettes below the bed I slept

And visions crept in my head

Extra ships extruded through cracks

In bottles, caps screwed on loosely

Mother Goose with a garden hose

Duck duck noose no mystery

Madcap madness sheer lunacy

Caught me on the slide and kissed me

Plucking petals to feed the wind

I'm loved, I'm loved not

Even now taking a magnifying glass

To the past clears nothing up

Good thing who I become

Isn't set in stone by

What I was

Prompts: needing to say it was madness; extra ships; what was I

[natt-writes]

My body: please just let me sleep god just let me get one night of good sleep I am begging you please!!

My brain: oh you want to stay up until 1:00 am so we can write a few paragraphs in a book no one’s gonna buy, sounds amazing let’s do it!

[transcendencepheonix]

You made me insecure about new things I had never been insecure about before.

You've created another voice in my head that tells me I'm not important.

That im not pretty enough, or quiet enough or neurotypical enough for you.

And I know it's not true. I know it's not. But that little voice has been created and it's another one I have to battle everyday.

[yvepaints]

reblogging my art with folk songs I feel are fitting part 3

18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)

Blow out the candles, darling.

You might make it to 18.

After all the nights crying

Through gritted teeth.

After the day you thought

That if you killed yourself

Their lives would be more pleasing.

Congratulations, darling.

You’re almost 18.

[stardusttodustpoetry]

Washing-Machine Zombie

You told me “pick my brain”,

So I pulled it out my nose;

Here I held it but no-one wanted to know,

So I put it in my pants pocket and forgot it.

'Til I took my pants out the wash-and-dryer

And found pockets empty as my head

And my prefrontal cortex cut into pieces

Clogging up the lint-catcher instead.

Sorry I didn’t text you back.

It’s not that I don’t like you,

It’s just that my brains are now staining my shirts.

My captain’s log waterlogged.

Sorry the place is messy.

See, my skull’s now see-through and plastic,

Detached from my body,

And I’m still picking my brain out of there.

[sleeplessv0id]

I'm such a "but why" girl. I need to know exactly why you said that or why you did that. why you feel that way or why you treated me like that. I just HAVE to know why someone did what they did or I will not ever get over it.

[yourdailyqueer]

Daniel Tammet

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

DOB: 31 January 1979

Ethnicity: White - English

Occupation: Writer, poet, entrepreneur, songwriter

Note 1: Is autistic, has synaesthesia, and he is one of fewer than a hundred "prodigious savants" according to Darold Treffert, the world's leading researcher in the study of savant syndrome.

Note 2: Set the European record for reciting pi from memory on 14 March 2004 – recounting to 22,514 digits in five hours and nine minutes.