you’d never say it:
that i deserve less
as an autistic woman
i speak my mind with a steady voice
fingers wound into knots
where you can’t see them under the table
as you come up with an idea i
shared last Tuesday that you
shot down but now
coming from your lips
it’s brilliant
i know better than to speak
the room suffers from
collective amnesia
and they all say i’m too intense
annoying
so i make myself smaller
i eat lunch alone in a quiet courtyard
birds singing, acorns falling
around me peaceful
until you block my path back inside
and accuse me of thinking i’m better than you.
it’s true, isn’t it? you ask.
no, i say.
you don’t hear my words.
only spaces between them
you’ve infused with meaning i never intended.
you call me stuck up
unfriendly
as i smile and say hi
each morning
to your downcast eyes
to your face of stone
you’d never say it: that i deserve less
yet you step back
when others lob insults at me
when they gaslight
patronize
rewrite history
you say you can’t see it
hear it touch it
you don’t taste it under your tongue
like the dislike for me you say doesn’t exist
you tell me you’d never
put up with mistreatment
like i do
you show me pictures of your grandkids
your beach house your puppies
before telling me i am too passive
that i need to be more assertive
like you
will you?
i nod.
when my eyes slide away, you accuse me of lying
when my gaze holds yours, i am creepy, uncanny
later, behind cupped hands
you will call me cruel
for leaving abuse
you
deserve a home
a love and a life
i
deserve to be questioned
incessantly
with how did you find a good job?
how do you afford to live here?
how is it your boyfriend is such a sharp dresser
that he buys flowers and writes you poetry?
he opens doors.
for you.
why?
help me understand.
