I wrote a poem about my autism - read desc

Instructions

My adversity, A Poem by Hazel [last name] Every day, dealing with the stress I’ve always wished I could perceive things less. The click of a pen, the tap of a shoe So loud to me, invisible to you. Small talk, the horror, like a punch to the face You’re fluent in the language, while I seem a disgrace. And while you’re sitting there chatting with your friend, I sit here, looking forward to my end My headphones plop me in a calm sea, I would love to stay there, happy as can be. As I take a deep breath, like a peaceful ascension, It’s taken away, stripped to a desert for the sake of “paying attention”. My stomach growls, did I eat? Taking care of myself is an impossible feat. I sit during lunch, not at all eating, If I try to eat, my nausea gives me a beating. Their voice goes up in volume, oh no! I struggle to resist the memories that flow Through my mind, a violent sea Of all the past “Incidents” that have happened to me “Try harder” they say, which will be tough, Since in our society, my best is never enough. I can’t do anything, I’m just a child. I can’t even be disabled because my autism is “too mild” If I stim, I’m considered “too weird” If I don’t stim, my pain will become more severe. I cling to my mask, though it’s heavy as a moose, It’s the only way to protect myself from ab*$e. I used to be gifted, be smart, be special, Now I’m only a shell, just a hollow empty vessel. I’m not worth paying attention to and loving anymore, I can’t even divide simple numbers by four. The bigger kids loom in groups of three, “Stupid!” They say, they always make fun of me. I post my art, happy and proud The other students beat it down to the ground. I sit, staring at the task at hand. Why can’t I cope with life’s simple demands? I sit and doodle, as I’m very prone, I swear my hand has a mind of its own. “We’re messaging your parents.” my teachers say I wish I would never reach the last hours of the day. As they dial the phone, my heart breaks. Time to remember the reason I can’t make mistakes. Waiting at the end, with claws that snatch me, Is my parent’s disappointment, erasing any trace of being happy. I endure the yelling, endure the pain, She’ll feel bad if I tell her about her mistakes. I hate myself, I hate my mind I hate the reason I’m always behind. I hate the reason I can’t make friends I hate the reason I can’t cope with ends. “You want attention,” they all say. What I wouldn’t give to make my adversity go away. “Look at me” she says, staring into my eyes, I struggle every day just to survive