Missing Sadly (Draft 0)

Missing Sadly (Draft 0 )

You ask me why I haven’t called
to break the fantasy and
show myself as
the nothing I am

I have my words that sometimes
make me seem poetic and heroic.

Dear, my pen is not really
mightier than the sword of the day.

I don’t know how to parry the blows, and
I will get buried in snow I fear in this
perhaps my last winter.

You don’t have to wait for me, ’cause
I want you to be loved tomorrow
if I can’t make it today

I’m climbing the tree, and
I hope I can fly; can I
borrow your feathers…

I’m dipping your plumes in ink,
and writing as fast as I can.

If you can fly,
I would want you to go, but
I would miss you, it’s just that

you don’t know what a speck of ink I am,
and how much I don’t know how to be bigger,
don’t know how to do anything.

I’m trying to finish my poem-novel, because
if I don’t make millions or a little less, I’m dead.

I don’t know how to do anything at all.

Time is really running out for me.

I can’t be the
scientist I always wanted to be
because I’m autistic. And

probably I can’t be the novelist or poet either
because English was my worst subject in school.

I’m running as fast as I can, but
I keep tripping and falling and
I don’t know if I ever want to get up again.

Sometimes I just want to lie in the ditch
and hope a tree falls on me.

I don’t know how to climb a tree,
don’t know how to reach the sky.

I used to have a plan, but it was silly —

they killed me in college when
they made me fail and not be human anymore, and

there was nobody at all down any hallowed hall:
no counselor, no teacher, no friend, no book.

There’s been nothing, except the kindness of you because

I know there’s something you understand, but
there’s so little I can promise because I have nothing.

Go if you must go,
but don’t go too far.

Maybe somehow
I could learn to climb.

Someday if I find you
in the highest branch of the tree,
I could be quirky and you could be chirpy

Maybe there’s hope for silliness.

— Douglas Gilbert