What is a Man, besides what they do with their hands?

To be Understood

Wishing I could afford

The intimacy of being understood.

But they don’t see my face,

They don’t say my name

They don’t feel my pain.

Here I’m just another body walking around,

And people  wonder why I hate this town.

Always questioned, always off.

Never right in my mental blight,

of having neurodivergenceies .

I need to change to be like them,

A cookie cutter that I just can’t fit.

I’m tired of explaining and saying

“Wait but” and hoping I’ll get a spot.

The ticks on my tongue lash violently at their minds as I’m falling apart,

Falling asleep, falling down.

Picking myself up, putting it together,

pulling bandages tight.

I feel like I’m just trapped in my mind,

And no one sees me banging

On the pupils in my eyes.

The little girl inside, just wants her emotions valorized.

If the answers are so clear,

Then why do they always fall through my hands?

dh 12.17.22

Hidden Times

You’ll never see the tears she cries

before she goes to sleep.

Her minds a-racing through every hell

That it’s created for itself.

The secrets she doesn’t tell,

She doesn’t know how to cope with-

(Besides all by herself).

Symptoms of these hidden times,

Where her body succumbs to her mind

Include the breakage of her sanity,

Earthquakes under blankets

caused by anxiety shakes.

Gasps of air between lungs

filled up by pain and great lakes.

And the overwhelming desire

to be given love and peace.

dh

12.01.22