I try to write down the words haunting my brain,

that get lost as they travel down to my hand,

but the only motion it’s making,

is shaking to find the words.

My brain tries to communicate with my mouth,

but the waves get lost and stuck somewhere between

my mind and clogged throat. 

My Mom stares at me with her worried eyes,

begging me, “Just one word. Just tell me what you need baby, please?”

I try to tell her, I tug on her shirt and point at the thing that I am craving,

but my words are lost, and she’s left to read my mind, like all Moms do best. 

Year four flew by no matter how tight my parents held on. 

I was twelve before I knew it,

battling being bullied even though I didn’t attend public school,

I still managed to get ridiculed. 

Seventeen came before I could even blink,

with lips that still have never been kissed

and gaining an unwelcoming hundred pounds to my hips. 

Crying as I look at myself in the mirror still trying to communicate with peers,

but didn’t have any and didn’t know how to keep them either. 

All in the same year finding out I have Asperger’s,

discovering the reason why I have a twisted tongue and a delayed brain. 

I didn’t know much about Asperger’s at the time,

but soon realized how much of a pain in the “asp” it is. 

I didn’t let it stop me,

instead in a way it made me stronger,

it made me want to prove it wrong,

that I could be more than a label a doctor gave me. 

I graduated with my loved ones help 

and with my delayed brain, trying to pull me down. 

I went to college and started to change my life around at nineteen,

started to lose weight and be the person I knew I could be.

But before I could flip the page,

before I could continue on this journey,

a life shattering event changed me,

as my best friend and supporter through all this, gets ill,

as I hold her hand to the end and I have to say farewell.

My Gramma was the light that told me 

I could do anything no matter what “title” I have. 

For a year I felt lost and broken,

like a scattered piece of window that 

has just been bashed in by a foreign object, 

making something that was once so polished 

and shined with its innocence to this world, 

now broken apart into tiny pieces with reality shattering it from its rims,

not sure how to fight the words trying to find their way out of my mind

and into the world before me. 

Still dealing with bullies,

but this time I realize the biggest bully,

is myself, 

looking in the mirror and not even seeing the real me. 

I got tired of feeling sorry for myself

and not giving myself the credit, I deserve.

The light inside of me changed

and year twenty I looked myself in the mirror and I finally said,

“I love you.” 

My heart grew, with self-gratitude, 

like rain falling down from the sky, 

knowing it will turn into a rainbow,

as I decided to be proud of who I am 

and stopped pointing out my flaws

and turned those into what makes me beautiful. 

Year twenty-one,

finally, been kissed,

had my heart broken,

that added to its scars,

and for the first time I found my words. 

I took my hurt,

from the past and present 

and made them into something beautiful, 

something wonderful, and understandable. 

I wrote the thoughts in my head and kept writing,

until the caulis on my fingers bled. 

I wrote and found my soul.

Now twenty-two and I can’t go a day 

without putting my thoughts on paper,

but mainly on my phone, 

with thoughts that grab and take me in the middle of the night,

expressing how I feel into words and emotions,

which used to be so hard to find, but now is a part of my life. 

It’s me written so neatly and finely. 

This is my life story, as a poem, 

It’s me, written to a T, 

tangled up with the truth and rawness of life.

I still have pain and demons that knock at my door,

like we all do, but now I know how to handle them.

With a pen and paper 

and a heart that bleeds the words calling out to me.

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