Dawn of a New Age

Dawn of a New Age

Night has fallen on my old life,
And the sun has risen for a new day.
Will I make the change to achieve greatness,
Or will I remain stationary and miss that chance?

The page of my life’s story has turned,
Yet, somehow, I feel the same.
Do I look forward to create a bright future,
Or do I continue to live in the past?

The answer to the first question becomes very clear,
As I look up at the heavenly blue sky.
God wants me to be as great as I’m destined to be,
So He says, “Go forth and live your dreams with love.”

The wind bellows the second answer,
Shaking the flowers beside me as it blows.
God wants me to have great people and rewarding adventures,
So He says, “Your friends love you, so go and be with them.”


The Siphoned Heart

Originally written February 13, 2015


My first love was five years my senior,

Yet he and I were exactly alike.

Autistic—Asperger’s, mind you—with

Big hearts of gold; encyclopedic

Knowledge of video games, animation,

History, and politics; and a wish for world peace.

But the love we had for each other

Was beautiful. I loved him

Just as much as he loved me.

One summer night, all that changed when

He told me, with a sullen look on his face,

That our romance had to come to an end. I believe he

Never meant that because—and please

Don’t write me off as crazy—a Heartless

Stole the heart that loved me and

Replaced it the heart that wanted

Nothing to do with me romantically

At all.

To this very day,

My mind has been racing

With thoughts of running the world over,

Keyblade in hand, to find the dark villain

Responsible for stealing the heart

Of a man who loved me so dearly, and

Take it back. Only when I return the

Golden heart to my man will

He love me again, because his heart

Belongs to me, not the romance-hating

Devil that is our society.

From America, with L’amour

Paris, mon ami, I heard that you were hurt.
I heard those bastards tried to take away your beloved treasure–
Your art, your music, your champagne.
Instead, they purloined the lives of your people–
People who defended the precious jewels that you gracefully shared with them.
My heart aches por toi.

Paris, mon ami, I can hear you crying.
I can hear your people wailing for the lives of their loved ones–
People who were enjoying the beauty of your creations whilst drinking your champagne.
Those who are still walking today will continue to revel in your beauty–
But it won’t be the same without the people they shared those moments with.
My heart aches por toi.

Paris, mon ami, I am standing by your side.
Years ago you helped me when my people were in trouble–
When they were taken by those same bastards who took yours now.
You shared many things with me, and comforted me through my darkest times.
Now it’s my turn to bring comfort to you in your darkest hours.
My heart aches por toi.

With L’amour,

I’m Autistic, Deal With It

I have a sense of humor, really–
Just not when my brain registers certain jokes as serious.
Neurotypical older brother asks me,
“Don’t you have a test to study for?”
It’s summer vacation, and I’m not the kind of person who takes summer classes.
“You get every joke on Family Guy, but why can’t you understand mine?” he asks.
Instead of telling him my analyzes jokes differently I say,
“I’m autistic, deal with it.”

I’m a nice person most of the time, really–
Just not when I’m in unfamiliar situations.
Neurotypical mother asks for the following favor:
“Can you set the language on my Bluetooth back to English?”
She’s not great with technology, and she set it to German by accident.
So I say in an angry tone, “I’ve never had that problem, so I can’t do it.”
“Why do you have to get so frustrated when I give you a new task?” Mom asks.
Instead of telling her I can learn how to fix things with interest I say,
“I’m autistic, deal with it.”

I always keep my composure, really–
Just not when I get excited about something.
Neurotypical Twitter user announces:
“New main Pokémon game to be released in November!”
I take gaming news like this with a grain of salt until I find a trailer on YouTube.
So I squeal with delight and flap my arms at the sight of the real deal.
“Why do you flap your arms and squeal like a baby at times like this?” Mom asks.
Instead of telling her that arm-flapping and squealing are forms of stimming I say,
“I’m autistic, deal with it.”

I’m into sophisticated things, really–
Just not when it comes to certain forms of pop culture.
Neurotypical brother tells me, as I watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,
“That show is for babies.”
Correction: the My Little Pony TV shows and films from 1986-2006 are for babies.
So I argue, “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is for people of all ages.”
“Why the hell do you even like cartoons like this?” he asks.
Instead of telling him such cartoons are my default interests I say,
“I’m autistic, deal with it.”

Just because I can’t take certain jokes doesn’t mean I have no sense of humor.
When I get upset in unfamiliar situations, don’t tell me I’m impatient.
If I stim by flapping my arms and squealing excitedly, I’ll calm down eventually.
I love My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, so don’t change the channel.
All these things are a part of who I am,
And I wouldn’t change myself for anyone.
So if you ask why I act and behave in a certain way at a certain time and place,
I have these five words to say:
“I’m autistic, deal with it.”