Thought I'd share this poem I found with you. Made me a little sad.

Autistic Identity

by Dave Spicer

             They ask me questions.
             Carefully, I answer, so deliberate, explaining
             Once again the sense in why I do things as I do.
             They show me aspects of "the world"
             like cheating, violence, lies, deceit,
             and tell me I must know all this
             to function in it. Simply put,

             They cannot see the path I follow.
             Me, I know it's there - it doesn't seem
             like home somehow, but nowhere does, and look what
             their religion says - to "be not of this world but in it".
             That's about
             just how it is
             and how it goes
             this path that leads a different way
             that what they'd hoped for.

             Then they cry - I see the track
             a tear makes down a face, and wonder
            why they aren't at peace. The weather's
             not so bad inside here, really, kind of quiet
             watching through the window, seeing, hearing,
             sitting, thinking, contemplating all the noise outside

             They say "that's how the world is". Fine, but their frustration,
             living in that world, gives pause
             to folks like me who feel their pulling
             hear their pleas
             receive their training
             all designed
             so we can "join them" -
     &nbs