Pity

People stare at you on the street, and you read put-her-out-of-her-misery behind their eyes. You try to count the stares; you lose track.
They talk to you in the voice of so many preschool teachers. You vow to never use that voice when you grow up and become a preschool teacher.
They are very kind about it, when they tell you you are unnerving, horrifying, not good enough. They are simply stating facts.
You make people uncomfortable. Sad. Desperate. You make people cry and donate money.
People wish you didn’t exist. They wish it for your own sake.
If you start to wish it, too, that is proof.

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One thought on “Pity

  1. I hope this isn’t written from experience, Abby. Just having had the privilege of reading your poetry makes me appreciate you and be glad that there is an Autistic Abby in my world. Pity the people who won’t understand.

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