(Originally published for The Bee Boxes)
Conforming to an allistic society
feels as if my brain and yours are
Like thoughts hanging off branches,
Instead of naturally falling.
Coerced to conform
To unspoken standards,
And unseen scripts.
With time all the thoughts are taken, with
Nothing left but the silhouette of the tree,
The mask, the outline of the trunk with no colour.
To return to life,
The mask must be dropped,
And the unique leaves nourished.
The diverging parallels cherished,
The contrasting wavelengths encouraged and,
The contradicting perspectives accepted.
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