My ASD presents itself in a lot of ways, enough to call it a myriad. It sometimes looks like quiet, it sometimes looks like frustration, sometimes looks like I am daydreaming in a way you can’t snap your fingers to call me from. A thousand ways I disappear when I’m overwhelmed, when there are plates spinning in my brain that you might not see, when I’m doing all I can to keep them going, to keep the floor free of shards and blood.
Words do this to me, sometimes they spread and cover all the new growth in me, steal all the water reserved for the greenery, sometimes they choke it all. I write, I’ve always written, as a way of kneeling down in the garden within, and pulling them from the soil. I write to rid myself of them, these combinations of letters, these phrases that repeat themselves throughout the entirety of my day. I write to feel better, to purge, to clear off the excess in my brain. I write because I must, it’s always been this way.
To this day, I never expected a soul to read anything I had written, save my family, my friends, my wife. I never saw it coming that anyone, anywhere, would care. I am mystified by this, to this very day, to this moment typing these letters, these words that were choking the grass inside. I am honored, humbled, and absolutely staggered that you’re all here, reading these words, these weeds, and more than that, calling them flowers.
I love you. All.
Words like weeds in me,
choking out the promised growth.
I write to pull them.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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