The Misunderstood Child
I am the child that looks healthy and fine.
I was born with ten fingers and toes.
But something is different, somewhere in my mind,
And what it is, nobody knows.
I am the child that struggles in school,
Though they say that I am perfectly smart.
They tell me I'm lazy - can learn if I try.
But I don't seem to know where to start.
I am the child that won't wear the clothes
Which hurt me or bother my feet.
I dread sudden noises, can't handle most smells,
And tastes - there are few foods that I'll eat.
I am the child that can't catch the ball
And runs with an awkward gait.
I am the one chosen last on the team
And I cringe as I stand there and wait
I am the child with whom no one will play
The one that gets bullied and teased.
I try to fit in and I want to be liked,
But nothing I do seems to please.
I am the child that tantrums and freaks
Over things that seem petty and trite.
You'll never know how I panic inside,
When I'm lost in my anger and fright.
I am the child that fidgets and squirms
Though I'm told to sit still and be good.
Do you think that I choose to be out of control?
Don't you now that I would if I could?
I am the child with the broken heart
Though I act like I don't really care.
Perhaps there's a reason God made me this way
Some message he sent me to share.
For I am the child that needs to be loved
And accepted and valued too.
I am the child that is misunderstood.
I am different - but look just like you.

The boy on the playground

There's a boy on the playground
see him over there?
He's watching all the children
and wishing he could share.

There's a girl sitting on the monkey bars
can you see her lonely face?
She turns so you wont see her tears
when she feels so out of place.

These children are the lonely ones
the ones that don't fit in.
They try each day to find a friend
someone to believe in them.

On every crowded playground
in schools throughout the land.
There are children who are lonely
who struggle to understand.

So when you put your child to bed
tonight when darkness comes.
Ask them to whisper a little prayer
to remember the forgotten ones.

So when tomorrow, they see my son
trying hard to know what to say,
they may remember the prayer they said,
and invite him to come and play.






Rewriting History for Their Own Ends:

Cure Autism Now and The Mind Tree

Kiss with eyes they do
I see it all the time
God I envy people
Kissing with eyes
The love flows like
Stars like brilliant
Stars
So really loving how
I love to kiss with eyes1

The above poem was penned by a young autistic man, and published in a book of poems and stories. His mother, with some help, taught him to write. He could not speak, was presumed by many not to think, and had a good sense of humor and grasp of metaphor. He was the first person in this position to write a book in English. He told people things they had not known before about autism. One professor said, "In the poems he is talking about relationships, and shows an awareness of society and his place in it. He's aware of his own condition and of other people and how they react to him. Being able to reflect on that is something people didn't realize that autistic people did."1



The Yellow Kite

The other day
I saw a yellow kite
it was so beautiful
flying free, against
an electric blue
sky.



I thought of my
little child,
and realized
he is just like that
yellow kite
He is the kite
flying free
colorful, unique
beautiful.


I like to think
that the string
is the love
between us.



I stand and watch
him, as he soars
I pull him back
when danger
threatens
to topple him.


I give more of
the string, when he
needs it,
allowing him to
test the skies
and fly on his own.



But I love him
enough,
to reel him in
when he is
out of control
when his fears
and his tears,
send him in a
tailspin.


I pull the string gently,
I must not break
the string,
for if I let it go
my beautiful yellow
kite will be alone
and he is not ready.



Some days there
is not enough wind
for my kite to fly.


On those days, when
life is just too windy
or even too calm.


I fold him up carefully
in my arms,
hold him close,
until the time is
right to let
him fly free once more.



c.

Sally Meyer 2000