I look down

To distract myself by tracing my fingers around my desk

But scattered pen slashes on cheap linoleum

Can’t possibly cut as deep as your words.

“Matt, are you Autistic? you’re such a fuckin retard!”

The gravity of them,

Turns my skin pale

Paper thin like the layer of water in her eyes.

My sister,

holds back a dam of tears

For the whispers they think that she cannot hear.


They give her coloring books,

In AP math,


But no crayon can draw the grey flecks in her blue eyes

The finest oil paint cannot capture her laughter, when she thinks she is alone

She is person,

Not a novelty for you to stare at

Throw your words at her

Like crushed cans at the mighty lion in the zoo

Trust me her mane is thick

Her stories,  

coarse hair that your fingers get stuck in

Hair you’ll never touch

If she doesn’t want you to

Almost as long as her legs

Her stride, beams sunshine rays

That you can’t stop her to look at cause she’s got places to be

She is not the words that cage her

She is not Autism

She is not retard

She is human

She is passion

She is sass

She is beauty

Her opinions are ripe

Like the apples we would suck on,

On hot summer days

We whisper secrets over stolen cake,

But no icing is as sweet as her stories.

Silver forks scrape against empty plates

Like the word scratching in the back of our heads,



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