This Poem Is Called Autistic Rage (All My Poems Are Called Autistic Rage) 2.12.16
never been in the scene, any scene
never been much one for being seen,
never kept a rhythm and i never caught a beat,
never saw much brighter than the light off the screen.
check the shine on those stars that youre stuck in between -
don’t fight it, keep quiet, be grateful
you wouldn’t get hate if you dint wear the label
girls like you hardly count as disabled
you’re lucky girl cus you pretty much pass,
lucky girl you get to be top of the class,
almost normal, so intelligent
can barely even tell that you’re out of your element
you couldn’t be a retard and be this eloquent
its evident that where we’re at is not exactly heaven
or the resident devil living in the seventh level:
its limbo, a settlement in the centre,
purgatory tenements: you’ll be here forever
enter stage left, exeunt right never
always sick, never dying
always floating, never flying
always tripping, never falling
hearing voices, no one’s calling
we won our rights in ‘95
the right to be told that work is life,
the right to be told to look you in the eye,
the right to diluted, long-disputed, weak and muted legislation
well i guess let’s have a party cus we’ve fixed discrimination
30% of our families living in deprivation,
got certification that we’re living in a nation
that’s eleven points deep in human rights violation
underfunded hospitals, daily degradation,
and piss-poor fuckall media representation:
keep your Rain Man Oscar-gimmick Paralympic skys-the-limit bullshit:
we’re ‘such an inspiration’
but you still aint gonna take your kids to get their vaccinations
you don’t know shit about it but you know you gotta fear it
you say you want awareness, take one day out the year for it
and if we spell it out for you,
are you gonna hear it?
are you gonna see it?
are you gonna live it
are you gonna be it?
or have you got a puzzle
and you’ll try to fit me in it?
dont give a shit what the dog in the nighttime did
dont give a shit about your cousin’s neighbour’s girlfriend’s kid.
‘oh but he acts nothing like you’
well, obviously. he’s six fuckin years old.
what did you expect, we’d be birds of a feather?
that every one of us can be lumped together?
am i somewhere on the spectrum?
yeah, im fuckin riding it,
one day im yelling it,
one day im hiding it,
but ask me straight and i’d never deny it
another madhouse brit gliding lit around a lemniscate
a rainbow on a figure-eight,
not a neurotypical
not a fuckin innocent:
a full-colour kaleidoscope, my mental age is infinite
if im an epidemic i’ll get everyone infected,
a pathogenic in the system till it gives in and collapses
fuck the back-to-work interviews
the spare bedroom taxes,
the ‘mercy-killings’ in the news
the stairs-only access,
Damien Green and the DWP and Autism Speaks
and anyone who ever thought they’d speak for me
this slant and sloping playing field
and Andrew fucking Wakefield
they built power on a mountain and if i never reach the peak ill be
another body on the path to mark the route you seek
a guiding-sign in blood defined, a kind of hope when times are bleak:
because all the things for which we fight,
solidarity and love and rights, equality and food and life,
is fought across the generations and not all of us survive
we can only start to lead the way
and hope our freedom comes with time.