A description of what it feels like to be mildly autistic.

WHAT IT FELT LIKE, AS AN ASPERGER CHILD...

Within the inner surface of a thought
tentatively aware,
curiously blind,
like an octopus,
trapped in a cave,
underneath the sea,
where only darkness and cold,
and silence exist,
I stretch myself unbearably,
breaking my own resistance,
in search of an opening,
light and warmth,
maybe a song I can dance to.

Then it changes.

Now I am holding your head on my lap,
caressing your hair with a long,
gentle,
eternal stroke of tenderness.

I touch every part of you
eager to know where you come from,
wondering if I was meant to be you
I learn to decipher your essence.

But it changes again.

This time I am myself, alive,
burning with desire to exist,
for a moment,
in a dream,
safely within the Mind
where all thoughts are fashioned.

There is a path,
to the center of things.
A verification of sorts,
I gather,
perhaps claiming a name
that will earn us a spot of posterity.
After all that,
I realize,
I am still probing,
my tired, wounded tentacles,
stubbornly inspecting,
the crystallized sharpness of my cave.

With no eyes to set me free,
no glorious visions
onto distant lives of belonging.

Just me, laughing, crying,
mad, old creature in the cave,
trapped and helpless,
waiting for the final breaking.

Knowing I am the cave,
and the light and warmth beyond its murky walls;
and the texture of your hair;
beyond the endless carousel of being
from which we all emerge,
thousands at a time,
ushered through the portal they call living
whether we want to or not.

Oh, how I long to tell you,
about the magic
hidden inside my unredeemable heart,
and of this one forgotten moment
that holds us together,
always,
from within,
endlessly born anew,
resplendent with unspeakable love.