She is dying and so am I
Autism has got nothing better but I do. He's ripping the
garments – like Joseph's, of normalcy and acceptance, sown by me;
like a fashion designer; whose scissors and skillful stitches are
passionate smiles and error–snubbing cuddles off you.
You're the graveyard that answers me with rumbling silence,
whenever I spit blood and ask "what again have I done?".
You once marked yourself, and the hurt pages emitted red inks
just like mine; as fesh as the morning dew; so; why so dear to autism?.
Although, your demon is too kind to our union that he
feeds us up-side-down in chains;
diluting our loving sensation with
bitter leaf's chlorophyll.....yet! now; is when true love speaks.
If all eagles are busy, I'll adjust your continuous and
impulsive actions that dig deep – a well of anger and frustration
into my skin, they should be strong enough to wing me up;
as I knock on God's blue door.
If questioned, I'll be plucking out the pins you deposited in my body bank,
like two, like three, with their bloody labels.
I'll steal a cup of cognition and fetch you a handsome
volume of I.Q if dignity fails.
© Psalmuel Benjamin Oluwasheun
Bio: He is a young Christian poet, short stories writer, dramatist, artist and inspiring lawyer from Nigeria. He is a round writer with the fear of God. If he is not doing the above mentioned exercises, he'll be praying.