reclaim your voice.
A short story revolving around sensory sensitivity for Autism Awareness Month: The ticking of the clock is too loud. I look around the classroom. Does no one notice it? Their heads are bent, sleeping on the desk. Some pay attention to the teacher that is drawing scribbles on the board. Do they not notice the…
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I don’t really like to think or talk about my greatest fear. Why discuss something I’ll never know? I’d rather talk about anything else, honestly. Like the time I ran to my grandmother in tears, Because my mother took the training wheels off my bike. Or the time my brother popped the heads off my…
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Will I see you, Tomorrow? You keep me sane — how could I forget? Maybe it’s the pain that hovers over my soul that’s in the way. My judgment is clouded, my mind flooded — is the breakthrough coming? I doubt it. Nothing. All I see is nothing, all I feel is nothing. Who am…
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A storm is brewing, conjuring a perpetual state of mourning which shows no sign of waning — something inside of me is rotten. The desolate core has expired and yet eludes understanding. Symptoms of tears appear in excess, gentle and lukewarm pearls they may appear, but remain futile — staining the glass skin and illuminating…
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Below is a modern play on Martin Niemöller’s “First They Came For The Socialists” from the view of a white American citizen, and following that is a story from the same perspective. “First they came for the Blacks, and I did not speak out — because I am not black. Then they came for the…
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I felt fire that day Anger Frustration It was blistering I told myself that I wanted them to understand To open their ears But deep inside I wanted them to agree And then I realized I am wrong I can’t ask them to agree Because the same would not go for myself I can However…
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I feel like I’m at a place where I can express myself Without perceptions that may hinder me I think But maybe I know It doesn’t feel like it’s for show This I know I’m learning to separate myself from the artist I’m learning to separate myself from the pain Using the lessons as riches…
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She let the paint brush glide across the canvas without thought. Instead of controlling the paint brush, it controlled her. Behind, the bristles left a trail of blue tears. A waterfall of worry flowed out of the mind she was captive to. The thoughts swirled in her mind, layering over top of each other. Mixing,…
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I was always taught that a classy lady kept her privacy But no one ever told me she could deprive a life so free Mysterious with no intent Protection is the word I’ve paired you with But mystery has caused your dysfunction You don’t even know who you are Without all the opinions and puppeteer…
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