Composing haiku is about awareness to the subtle, dramatic, details in our everyday lives.
It slows me down, entices me to pick a solitary subject, use a syllabic arrangement that starts off in one vein and suddenly turns into another.
I find writing haiku calms my mind and brings me into a more awake and aware state of being.
It's like a meditation of sorts. Highly theraputic.
I can go from normal to rainman, in the blink of an eye, especially when a stranger touches a personal item.
Feeling highly autistic these days. Had a bad experience at the checkout today. The clerk was "helping me" by taking my license out of my wallet, that lay on the counter, as I wrote a check.
I quickly flipped out. Asked her, "I'm autistic, please don't do that." She immediately backed off, but the damage was done. I think I need to go get a new wallet.
I figured out that I need a separate hard plastic case, like they use for trading cards, and put my license in that. This way, I can hand over my license and change the plastic sleeve, as I see fit.
Argh, I feel so violated.
I probably have over a thousand questions, that I will never find answers to, because I cannot format and articulate the question in a way that will procure an answer.
At times, I feel it is the saddest, most frustrating part about having Aspergers. I have so many questions...if I could just find the right words and correct sentence structure And a person that I could trust not to laugh and make fun of me.
It makes me incredibly sad really, that something so simple for most, is near impossible for me. I can't tell you how many hours I've spent searching on the internet with useless terms and best guesses before I figured out what I was actually seeking.
I've seen the responses, all my life, where I'd ask a simple, naive question and the recipient just laughed, rolled her eyes or thought I was joking. And it's like, I have to pretend that I'm okay with that...not asking questions, not completely understanding the people, customs and routines around me.
I guess I'd rather be thought of as aloof and keep my mouth shut, than a stupid idiot and ask juvenile questions.
It's like, everyone has this book with answers, but me...and I can't figure out how to convince someone to look up the answers for me.
I cannot convey the largess of this conundrum...but this is a start.
And there are too many people, to make sense of the depth and breadth of loneliness...
When another is within outstretched hand reach.
If only the cry of our hearts became audible sweet whispers.
Logic eludes, fails to feel
One head upon soft pillow
Cries silently
As a thousand other heads do the same
We cry for arms that
Never held us
Or that never will again.
It seems that we are locked in to the ideas of our own minds.
We are orphans,
Self-made heroes of unsung tales and stories.
We break the molds and suffer ourselves to grow.
I walk alone, but it not be in vain.
If I am true to me, I have not failed.
Those who say we must live for others are but poor fools.
I am loved, even when I am alone.
The walk of the solo sojourner is only for the brave.
No longer will I knock on doors that will not open.
I will know my beauty without ever seeing a mirror.
I will value myself even when penniless.
My footsteps, my path, my journey is my own.
No one can take that from me.
Rest assured
