.
blood
.
.
Brother
.
If only I could laugh like
my brother,
lushuous grins and twinkling
eyes, (where)
to him
it's all a joke, a vibrant
world of color,
.
he has no responsibilities,
he never will.
.
he needs to explanation as the
laughter bubbles out-
his mouth curled up in a smile
watching untouched pure skies
darted with clouds,
(maybe an airplane or two).
.
it's the sounds that make him cry,
.
only sounds move him to tears-
wailing tears,
tears that stop the stars and form a
blur of existence.
.
for me, it's everything else,
everything makes me cry.
nothing will ever make me laugh as
proudly as my brother.
.
.
autism
.
autism is not a curse
nor a bad dream,
but a crutch
from reality
with bitter pills
in your own happy bubble
sheltering you
from harm,
your own planet,
your own language,
where you can fall in love
when you want to-
without scars
or grudges
or nitemares that shock you
as you wake up,
seeing it is yet another day-
grey, maybe blue, maybe yellow,
sometimes white with snow.
.
autism does not take these things away,
reality does.
.