Today I am angry about everything that's gone wrong
about how fingernails make s***** chew toys
and about how led breaks to easily under a hand put under so much pressure.
Wrinkles hold the whispers of secrets that are thrown around like they weigh nothing,
and I can only stand here, shell shocked,
as the phrase "Maybe if he was autistic I could understand" rings like a warning bell.

Well maybe if you weren't a teacher I'd forgive you.
Young kids who are considered mix match socks in a crisp white society,
Maybe if he wasn't in fourth grade he wouldnt be considered autistic for being scared
to talk to someone who has judging eyes.
But what really matters is that in my eyes hes just a little boy.
You're the disabled one if you cannot turn around to see
that this little person can tell how blind you are when you look at him.

Today I am appalled to be so jittery
making fingernails s***** chew toys
and making led so easy to break under a hand who can't keep still while under so much pressure.
Breakouts spreading on my cheek show the physical signs of stress seeping out of my seems-
maybe if I were perfect,
maybe if I wasn't broken,
maybe if I didn't hold the responsibility of a future in my fingertips Id be able to breathe,
but the only thing I can be certain of is the fact that I never want to have kids
because of one thing a teacher said to a little boy-

and how easily that could've been said about me.