I hate being aspie

I hate

caring about how things smell

like towels

and the sink

and my clothes

I hate caring

about how things taste

like coffee

and tea

and almost furry strawberries

and the air

when the air is stale

or heavy with smoke

or worse

I hate that it matters

that the spoons and bowls

are not quite clean

that the towels

on the car seats

are messed up

but only

after you drive

that I have to care

how you want to spend YOUR vacation

but that it never matters

that I want to spend just five

just five little minutes

listening to the sea

I know you don’t care

I know you don’t understand

I KNOW it isn’t fun for you

I know it’s your vacation

I know I don’t count

or matter

or most of the time

actually exist

I know

I hate

the snuffle noise of you sucking up your phone

the banging noise of dinner cooking

when I don’t matter enough

to not care that I can’t hear

if I turn down the volume enough

not NOT hear the snuffle sucking banging tearing

but have to say huh when you don’t talk

lound enough to hear

I hate

always having to be entertaining

after very long days

when YOU are lonely

but i have to be on and on and on and on

and I can’t

I just CAN’T

I hate

most of anything

that you don’t

can’t

won’t

understand

because I know it doesn’t matter

enough to understand

that I’m not just being a bitch

that I’m not just trying to get out of a job

that I”m not just trying to get rid of you

I just can’t

and it will never matter

I hate

that

you can’t ever be alone

because you are lonely

and need to be fed

and I need to be alone

and can’t be

because you need

your ego fed

I hate

that people

laugh

and yell

and ridicule

and jeer

because

I don’t care

about their lame litlte problems

I’m not paid

to hear

about your marvy new media room

your wife’s car

your hot date without your wife

in town

I don’t care

I don’t have to care

I hate

I hate

I hate

I hate

 

and yet

 

I love being an aspie

because

I can smell the tea

and instantly

be back

at the kitchen table

shaving the bark

from the sassafrass root

I’m back in the barn

smelling the shit

I can tell

cow from horse from pig from chicken

is that weird

I never realized

I can smell

one crunchy leafe

and be back

jumping in the piles of my childood

I can taste

flat rootbeer

and be back

at Grandma’s house

at the chipped steel and granite counters

drinking

from aluminum glasses

teal and blue and purple and lime green

I can read a book

and hear the voice

of the author reading it in my head

if I’ve heard the author ever speak

I can hear the sea

and see the shore

and smell the spray

and feel the sun

rising

silently

and hear

the cry of the gulls

daning in the waves

I can taste

the strawberries

of my youth

feel the ice of the creek

behind Laura’s house

by hearing the sound

of the wind sighing in the trees

 

I will not use

aspie as an excuse

any more than

I will use it as a crutch

it is who I am

it is the way my mind

my soul

my everything

works

it is all that I am

all that I’ve

ever been

It’s the dyslexia

and the way I can understand

what no one can see

It is the freak

and the creativity

the ability to not fear

the aloneness

that sometimes creep into your life

and makes me fear

the aloneness

that sometimes

creeps into your life

all at the same time

 

I struggle with the lables

and strive

to live up to

Einstein and Tom Hanks and Miccelangelo and Gates

while all the time

trying

to fade

into the background

the insignificance

the judgement

of others

of the me