Inside Her Mind

Not all communication is verbal.

As darkness gives way to dawn,
And her silk robes drape to the floor
She wondered if her spirit could
Truly be reborn, free of the worry
That haunts her during the day
And follows even as her head
Sinks into the pillow at night.

Breakfast: a banana and oatmeal,
Simple fair for the bravest of soldiers,
Wearing a uniform unusually rough
Against her translucence skin--
Causing her to scratch in vain,
Fighting for her attention
In a dizzying dance of stimuli.

Trapped was her voice, and
Had been since birth--
Nonverbal they called her--
A mistake not meant to be born,
But she had discovered things
They couldn't fathom,
If only they would listen.

Neurodivergent, another term
Thrown around, seeming to take
Away her humanity by showcasing
Her differences, her anomalies,
So that the world would only glimpse
The child she could have been
If not for the whims of fate.


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