Key

Autism,

a room I am locked in without a key,

invisible walls between you and me.

Walls that are thin enough for me to hear your words

but too thick to understand your thinking.

 

Autism,

a country I live in

where people speak an encrypted foreign expression.

I am yelling as I communicate,

but no one bothered to tell me that their ears are deafened.

 

Autism,

a dream of my body being a piano,

full of black keys only

­the sharps and the flats,

but to play a song that others can perceive,

I need some white keys.

 

This is why I am here,

to find the key of the room,

the key for decryption,

and the white keys on my body.

 

Then I found them:

Words of clarity,

that I can finally seize

when I am drowning in a flood of voices;

Words of hope,

that speak life into me

when sadness swarms over me like sluggish waves;

Words of love,

that changes my world entirely

when I am bounded by autism.

 

Revised from House Rules, by Jodi Picoult: “This is where I go…..

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