I accuse you because you often fail to see,

the struggles faced by me, my hidden disability.

though I say it is a blessing, my soul both young and old,

Autistic, you claim it is an excuse, I resent that, truth be told.

A plea for empathy is seen by you as demanding,

Sometimes it is a curse, this absence of understanding,

You think meltdowns are only real when in the days of youth.

Why can’t you see what is obvious to me, this profanity of truth?

Why are we acceptable as children, when labeled unique?

Their meltdowns you defend but not me when unable to speak,

This is not a choice I make, to show my scars from the battles fought,

Yet because I am older, you are quick to judge when I am lost in thought.

Yet, as the years unfold their pages, the challenges we face day after day.

Autistic adults face silent stages, yet find no support. This isn’t child’s play,

At my age, my mask is shattered more often now, when my vulnerability is shown,

I once remained unnoticed, now the judgment I receive from you hits me like a stone.

Exaggerated movements, stammered speech, Autistic hearts, though resilient and strong,

We live in fear of the moments our masks are breached, but we’ve been silent for too long.

Struggle, pain, too bright, too loud, too much, judgments are felt, an internal and external war.

Autistic adults remain in hiding, ours is a silent plight. Allow us to speak our truth, to mask no more.