I know he can hear me
I see it in his eyes
I feel the depth of his frustrations
With every tear he cries
I know he’s trying to rail,
Trying to scream, trying to shout
But try as he might, true words
That we all know, just can’t come out
I see it in his eyes
I feel the depth of his frustrations
With every tear he cries
I know he’s trying to rail,
Trying to scream, trying to shout
But try as he might, true words
That we all know, just can’t come out
A four-year-old mind trapped
In a fourteen year old frame
Each day holds very little difference
But they’re never quite just the same
Searching for the rare moments
Of complete cognizance
For that miracle of his smile
His soundless laugh with a little dance
In a fourteen year old frame
Each day holds very little difference
But they’re never quite just the same
Searching for the rare moments
Of complete cognizance
For that miracle of his smile
His soundless laugh with a little dance
Autism is such a little word
For the mighty struggle that goes on within
That my six year colloquially describes as
“Missing a part of what ought to be in him”
For a childish blanket statement
It sort of holds pat
But even at her young age she realizes
It’s a lot more than that
For the mighty struggle that goes on within
That my six year colloquially describes as
“Missing a part of what ought to be in him”
For a childish blanket statement
It sort of holds pat
But even at her young age she realizes
It’s a lot more than that
As cruel as only kids can be
They take stabs at her young soul
When teased about her big brother
Who has about as much control
On how some days he’s happy active
Willing to play, pretending to help sweep
Versus the several days at a time
When he’ll do little more than sleep
They take stabs at her young soul
When teased about her big brother
Who has about as much control
On how some days he’s happy active
Willing to play, pretending to help sweep
Versus the several days at a time
When he’ll do little more than sleep
And I don’t know what is harder on us all
The bad days when he withdraws from all we meet
Or the really good days when we can spend hours
Without a sudden episode in the middle of the street
Those times give a false sense of hope
A hint of the child that he could have been
We endure instead, the echoes of silence
He’s forever trapped within
The bad days when he withdraws from all we meet
Or the really good days when we can spend hours
Without a sudden episode in the middle of the street
Those times give a false sense of hope
A hint of the child that he could have been
We endure instead, the echoes of silence
He’s forever trapped within
<>==========<>==========<>
Today at dVerse Victoria challenges us to write a poem in the first person. An extra challenge to write from a perspective not your own. My muse takes me to the heart of a parent of a challenged child.
Raivenne-lations 
I really feel for those parents of children with disabilities. It’s doubly sad when your other children get teased about them. You did a very sensitive and caring “first person”, Raivenne.
Thank you Bodhirose, I try.
Oh, this is so very heartbreaking and the daily bread of so many. I didn’t have much occasion to work with autism in my nursing career, but a lot with dementia. There is such a parallel–but when it affects little ones, it hurts so much.
How it affects the daily bread is what I was going for, thanks.
This is beautifully poignant.
Thank you, Sanaa.
This is very touching. In it I can see your love for him in spite of, or perhaps because of, his autism. Peace, Linda
Thanks Linda, I know noting of this first hand – this is all my muse emoting to the prompt.
I so feel for the persona within the poem, any parent with a child with a disability knows of those days where hope is in fact a false hope but we as parents persevere in our love and support for our children no matter what.
Parents persevere in their love and support for their children no matter what, is what I was trying to convey here. Thanks summerstommy2.
Hard for the whole family. You’d think people would be more understanding.
You’d think so, but regretfully not all are. The look of disdain I’ve seen some people give a parent of a child who is going through an episode is so heartbreaking sometimes. Thanks for commenting,
So touching, so true. My cousin’s son is autistic and now 20. Incredibly, he has become employed in an archive library – the solitude and his memory makes him a valuable employee and such a vital and reliable link to those who come to him for obscure publications and what would serve them best. I hope the young boy in this poem comes across more sympathetic and encouraging people in his life – we all have gifts and need to be appreciated for who we really are.
That’s wonderful kanzensakura. There are so many levels in autism. It’s great that people are learning how to live and work with those who can function well in society if given a chance. Thanks.
Such a struggle, indeed. I have several friends’ in this position. Each day is a gift, though.
“Each day is a gift, though” So true, whimsygizmo, thanks.
A very sad story. We don’t seem to understand the way we should.
As I was saying to georgeplace2013 above, it’s heartbreaking when we don’t. We should, but not enough of us do. Thanks Viv.
This is such a strange gift to have a child like that. It really got me thinking of the dog in the nighttime… Our society is not exactly forgiving these days of selfies…
But it is a gift, and luckily most of the parents of such children know this. Thanks,
I think it is a gift indeed.
This is heartbreaking to read — and to know this is the world of the autistic, the families who love and care for the autistic child. They are a mystery within….
Yes, they are. Thanks Lillian.
As with everything else in life there are levels. The families with autistic children who can find a way to function in world is one thing. I wanted to portray the not-so-good days and yet the love for the ones who may not ever be able to.
Awareness of autism is in the forefront these days. I can only imagine what parents and child go through. Thank you for sharing…nicely written narrative.
Thank you, Kathy.
If we have not experienced it first hand, then we can only imagine. You have imagined it so well that I actually thought you had experienced it. Bravo!
I was caught off guard by the beauty of your poem, then by your candid exposure, then by the beauty of both.
sMiLes.. my friend.. diagnosed
with Autism am i.. too..
escaping back
iN the
world
am i
now too..
regressing
before back
to 3 before i
could speak at
4.. way later
at 47.. and
back
again..
at 53..
as sure
miracles
happen too..
misunderstood..
yes still.. understand
me.. i still.. understand
others.. more than ever now..
and do i look like i’m autistic
whatever the hell that
means.. sure then..
but i can
mold
myself..
to anyone now..:)