Safe With Me

Like heroin, poke the needle

Have your fix

Feel guilty

Try to quit

Like heroin, but breathing too

I really was in love with you

But

Like heroin, that’s all I was to you

You never really saw me too

It’s true, only time you thought you loved me

I cried in the shower today

I cried for the young girl who wanted nothing more than to one day be a mother.

I cried for the tween girl whose rapist told the world she’d slept with him willingly.

I cried for the teenage girl who can’t look at herself in the mirror till this day.

To be

To exist

To be held

To be held

Nothing more

Peace

Safety

To be held

No expectations

No agenda

Just

To be held

To exist

To be

What is it to fly?

I’ve seen it

I’ve been there

I’ve felt it

The rush of adrenaline

The wind against your skin

weightless - for just a moment

What it is to soar

It’s in the soul

Lifting from the ground

Speeding beyond the edge of the world

It’s just you

The bond you hold

breathless - for just a moment

The complete trust you have in one another

It’s the best feeling in the world

To fly

What it is to fly.

On borrowed time

In a borrowed life

My brain doesn’t match this body

It doesn’t deserve this body

It’s borrowed this body

This body is made to be appreciated

To be shown off

To praise and worshiped

Healthy and happy

It is made to be happy

Worn with pride

Accepting privilege

People envy this body

People want this body

The hair, the silhouette

They long for it

But my brain doesn’t

It isn’t right for this body

It wants a body

A body that matches the scars within

A body that shows its pain

A body that doesn’t make it feel like an imposter

From a young age I’ve been told that I was different, something was wrong with me, too active, too different, too stubborn, cared too much, cared too little, too niche, too complicated. Not A4. In the end it turns out I’m just neurodivergent. shocker, I know. High functioning autistic, to be exact, although I don’t like that word, that phrase “high functioning”, it’s always been used to justify the idea that I’m “so close to normal” that I “basically don’t need support” and that pressuring me into fitting the allistic criteria of the world around me is not harmful at all. I’m more inclined to believe that I’m somewhere more moderately in need of support, I’m just high-masking, I’ve configured a way to blend in. A way that takes immense effort and requires a good amount of energy from me, that allistic people use for other things in their day, like keeping their house tidy or other expected things. I’m not “high functioning”, it just doesn’t feel right to call my life that, especially considering how I live with severe traumatic mental illness. I’m an acronym collector at this point, my pda autism doesn’t help the matter. Because I was labelled as “high functioning” I often get labelled as “lazy” because spending so much energy being the “high functioning” individual leads to burnout and energy debt. Nothing left to do normal allist things with. and of course I try to unmask, but the world around me doesn’t like it, it doesn’t like when I wear headphones everywhere to lessen sensory overload, when I wear baggy clothes to feel more relaxed, when I carry stuffed animals, when I speak plainly, when Im not excitable, when I rant about my favourite subjects, when I express discomfort, when I stim, when I remove myself from situations, feeling unbecome in societal genders, having a strict schedule to follow or else my day is disrupted and debilitatingly ruined. All these unmasking traits, people don’t like, because they expect me “high functioning autistic person” to just be a quirky allist. But I’m not, I’m a disabled person with an invisible disability, but when that disability becomes visible, people do not like it. They want me to be their normal, they think the easiest thing for me is to be their normal. And then they get so surprised when you explain you are never unmasked around them.

Life is a hostile environment. It’s inherently traumatic. I’m forced to be another because that is the norm and anything else would be unacceptable and uncomfortable to a world of allistic people.

Manic pixie

Dream girl

Manic pixie

Or

Dream girl

You can’t have both.

Not quirky. broken

Beaten and sick

Not kind. complaisant

Pleasant and yielding

No dream girl

It’s an illusion.

All an illusion.

You are the projector.

Manic pixie dream girl

She doesn’t exist.

You made her up.

I don’t want your solutions, I want your sympathy.

I don’t want your answers, hear me when I say;

2,

3,

Is that me?

3,

4,

Not anymore,

Or sure,

I mean-

Sometimes

But maybe,

Maybe not most times

I don’t think I’m she

But am I he?

God,

that’s scary

That’s a scary thought

Or 5

Fragile is the first one

It says fragile on the box

In big red letters

F R A G I L E

It says

The second one is a letter

A letter from the previous owner

It states used

“She’s used,” it says

“Inadequate performance,”

The third one is a precaution

Broken, broken it says

There are missing pieces

Haphazardly glued together in glitter glue

The fourth one is her story

The first owner she had

He wasn’t very kind

She has scars you can’t see

The fifth one is an urging

“Too much?

My body

My

Body

But it’s not mine

My body is not mine

My body,

Stolen

Conquered

And left to rot

My body

Never loved

But lost

My body

His body

Forgotten

And tossed

He stole

And forgot

And left it to rot

It is

Do I need a reason to say I love you?

There are times

Times when just want to say it

Those three words

I love you

But then i think

Would it be weird?

To just say it randomly,

Speak it whenever I feel it

Because I feel it often

But is that a waste of those words

To just say it?

If I use them too often,

Will their meaning disappear?

So I ask

Do I need reason to say I love you?

Because I do,

Always doing what is best for me?

No.

My mother, my mother

Always does what she believes to be best

For me?

No.

For who?

I don’t know.

My mother, my mother

She never listens,

My mother, my mother

She never asks,

My mother, my mother

Only does what she believes is best

But

My mother, my mother

If she’d only heard me

She would know

My mother, my mother