Unmasking:
A Poetic Reflection
Written by Peak Afflatus
You play the game,
You wear the face,
And all the while
Feel out of place.
You try to fit
The perfect mould,
Then one day
You're grey and old.
And like a shift
Tectonic plates,
Something breaks,
You're full of hate.
The way you think,
The way you act,
Was just to hide
A simple fact:
You’d never feel
The way you should,
Neurology
Misunderstood.
All that struggle,
A sad misfit,
Was all because
You’re autistic.
The lens through which
You view your life
Tells stories new,
Divergence rife.
From living life
Within your head,
Thinking too much
About what’s said.
To spending time
All by yourself,
Free from critique
With quiet stealth.
You realise
The things you do
Aren’t just hobbies,
They’re special to you.
Interests that
Not many hold,
Knowledge of which
Leaves others cold.
And what of those
Typical types?
They don’t rehearse
For social heights.
They just exist,
It’s all innate,
While you please,
Agree, placate.
Acceptance is what
You’re looking for,
But if not masking,
Perhaps you’ll bore.
And so chit-chat,
Gossip persists,
The normies’ classic
Greatest hits.
Why not discuss
The madness that
Billions of people
Play tit for tat?
To mine the seams
Of life and meaning
Is surely better
Than just freewheeling.
Into work
And out again,
Chasing success
And seeking fame.
But then I guess
That’s why it’s great.
That so few,
Appreciate.
It shines a light,
It’s not mystic.
The best I know
Are Autistic.
Dis-Ease
Written by Peak Afflatus
Romanticising lives that are not mine,
Duality lingers in the mind.
Smiling sweetly at passers-by,
While melancholy makes me cry.
Who is living inside my head?
Where would I be, if not misled?
The sense of losing all control,
Sneaks up in the mind’s resolve.
Whispers grow to fill the room,
There’s no one there, dis-ease looms.
Frenetic thoughts whirl in the wind,
The awe is lost to feelings grim.
What is this switch?
Why pull the plug?
Who says, so surely,
You’re a dud?
The more we know,
The less makes sense.
So much success,
No recompense.
Don’t succumb,
From inside out.
Hungry to know,
But full of doubt.
Cutting off from social graces,
Not recognising friendly faces.
A wearing anger with oneself,
Putting skills up on the shelf.
Afraid to be seen,
Manufactured isolation.
Going unnoticed,
Hesitation.
Who am I to write
Written by Peak Afflatus
Who am I
To write a book
To put my mind
Upon the shelf
To be revealed
In black and white
For all to see
And face their smite
Can any author
Search their mind
And draw it out
For you to find
Without the weight
Of each regret
Or worry what
The world will get?
Why should I be
So averse
To let them know
I penned this verse
When no one cares
And few will see,
Yet all the care
Resides in me.