this is a title

21 august 2015


there’s an impediment, a barrier, but I don’t know what it’s made of. is it made only of my asperger’s?

I see you, hear you, but don’t comprehend. I talk about a lot of different things, have lots of interests, but am of no interest. I wander through you, right through you, but am invisible. I speak out, speak up, but it’s as if I never spoke at all. deaf to me, blind to me, unrelenting blocks of ice to me. you have eyes and ears and room for so many who are so little or so warped, but for me only the impediment.

what is anyone’s definition of unkindness, or cruelty, or damage? what is your definition? what is anyone’s definition of conscience, and does anyone have one, a conscience or a definition?

I can’t be like you. can’t smile as much as you, can’t deny the dark, sharp quills that people wear on their backs and wield at the blink of an eye, can’t see things through your rosy glasses, can only be my best one on one. even so, is there nothing? nothing at all of interest, or of value, that seeps through the barrier?

why is it so easy to be ice. doesn’t it ever enter your mind what’s happening, what’s at stake. I suppose it enters but doesn’t matter. what’s at stake doesn’t matter.


read…  Lifelines…    Stolen stars

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