Darkness Before Dawn: A Memoir In Verse Page 2

red and yellow leaves,

  Falling from their branches and blanketing the world,

  I go back to school, back to a new beginning.

  Then the last bell rings and, finally,

  I'm home.

  Sixteen

  I've had quite a life.

  Now what will the future hold?

  I hope it is good.

  They Told Me

  They told me my father didn't love me.

  They were wrong.

  All those broken years, I thought he had abandoned us,

  When he was fighting so hard to get back into our lives.

  They told me my grandmother would take us away,

  And she did, in a sense.

  But I'm glad of it.

  My life was broken pottery,

  And she repaired it,

  Making seams of molten gold.

  They told me my differences were bad,

  That I was any number of unspeakable things.

  Now I'm proud to be red in a sea of blue

  And I’m learning to call myself smart,

  Where before, my name may as well have been stupid.

  They told me my sister could do no wrong,

  And this had the opposite effect,

  Making me berate her at every turn.

  It's still hard to look past the old days,

  When she was an angel from the realms of glory,

  And I was a rotten piece of fruit--

  But it was never her fault, or mine.

  They told me everything, but gave me nothing--

  I'll never believe their lies again.

  They Don't Speak For Us

  After a while,

  All the so-called ‘advocates’ start to sound the same.

  They claim to want the best for us,

  But in the same breath,

  They compare us to a missing piece

  In a jigsaw puzzle.

  When really,

  We’re right here,

  Understanding every hateful word.

  They say that they know best

  When it comes to autism,

  But they never once

  Ask actual autistic people

  How we feel—

  About a cure,

  About being treated like we’re stupid.

  About what it’s like,

  Being different in a neurotypical world.

  The Things That Saved Me

  These are the things that carried me through:

  First and foremost, there's

  God's unending love,

  Guiding me through the darkness,

  Even when I didn't believe.

  Second, there's

  The power of books,

  Letting me escape that run-down blue trailer,

  At least in my mind and my heart.

  Last, but not least, there's

  my darling great-grandmother

  Who took me in when it seemed like

  My life had hit a dead end.

  So, in conclusion, I just want you to know...

  These are the things that saved me.

  To My Younger Selves

  Hello, eight-year-old self.

  I know you're conflicted,

  You don't know what's going on,

  Or who to believe,

  Or why these caseworkers are taking you away.

  Let me tell you, eight-year-old self.

  The God you don't yet know will make everything all right.

  Hello, ten-year-old self,

  I know you feel like you're stupid and inferior.

  Guess what?

  I'm not going to tell you that these feelings go away completely,

  Because they don't. But by the time you're a teenager

  You'll have done great things,

  And it will get easier to ignore the doubt.

  Hello, twelve-year-old self,

  I know you've been struggling with wanting to end it all,

  Wondering if you're really worth it,

  Hating yourself for the littlest mistakes.

  One word sums up my message to you:

  Soon. Soon you'll learn that you are worthy of love.

  It gets better soon.

  #trapped

  They’re spiraling down,

  Into addiction—

  It’s not to drugs or gambling,

  But it still causes friction.

  They’re trapped in a maze

  Of phones and games,

  They’re losing themselves;

  They should all be ashamed.

  I can’t help but wonder,

  Will I be next?

  Excuse me a moment—

  I just got a text.

  Treefort

  SIX

  Into the treefort we will go,

  Happy and free, we smile so,

  As we turn boxes into valleys low--

  Into the treefort we will go.

  TWELVE

  We’re older now, the magic wanes

  Replaced by adolescent pains--

  The losses now outweigh the gains,

  We go alone down our memory lanes.

  EIGHTEEN

  One last time, we decide to go,

  Into the treefort, but the cold winds blow,

  Grass and weeds have begun to grow,

  Our childhoods are over….now we know.

  Waiting

  Always watching and waiting

  By the sea for news of their lovers—

  Cruel is the mistress of war.

  Day by day those left behind stare at the sea,

  Ever hoping for word, and ever

  Fearing it in equal measure.

  Gone are the glory days, before the call.

  Happiness left with the last departing ship.

  In the night, they are forced to return to empty houses,

  Jars of preserves line the shelves, but there is no one to appreciate them. The

  Kings and queens of these foreign lands must have no heart, the women think as they

  Linger on the shore, waiting for their

  Martyred brothers, husbands, sons—who

  Never come back.

  Of course, they lost. The enemy was far more

  Powerful, with troops upon troops and countless weapons. The

  Question is, were all those lives wasted? The ones back home, were they

  Ruined for nothing? Their

  Small cottages seem so huge, now

  That the warriors are gone.

  Understanding is impossible, and there is a note displayed on the wall in one house:

  “Victory will be ours, dear

  Wife, my beautiful

  Xandra. Don’t worry,

  You will see me again soon.

  --Zacharias.”