“Outside the window, still seen”
I grew up in rooms with different rules;
special ed halls, smaller groups,
where my mind ran fast and sideways,
and my heart learned early how to brace.
I had friends, yes—names, faces, laughter—
but still I felt like standing outside
a window I could see through
Every day I came home tired,
not from school, but from being,
from translating the world
word by word, look by look.
but I was really just asking why,
why rules bent without warning,
why silence spoke louder than sound.
Now I read social cues like weather signs,
watching shifts in tone, in eyes, in space.
I don’t crave the noise of parties;
crowds blur, lights press too close.
where trees don’t judge pauses,
where wind doesn’t mind stimming hands,
where I can breathe without explanation.
music loud enough to feel,
a voice singing without an audience,
a body dancing without rules.
Give me libraries and quiet aisles,
new subjects like unopened doors,
learning for the joy of knowing,
curiosity as comfort, knowledge as home.
the sparks, the passion, the wonder—
the crashes no one else could see.
I was made different on purpose.
God shaped my mind with bends and fire,
let me walk the edges of belonging,
so I’d learn how to notice
those standing there too.
my tired days and quiet joys,
my questions and my compassion,
to gather hearts that feel unseen.
but with understanding hands—
to swim against the current
and still be called good.
~ Her Wildly Inspiration đź’‹
2087
gummygunk
stormborns
snowghoul
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
