chromatic expression

most people, i’ve come to realise, think in technicolour.

bold saturation flows like a rainbow, smooth, striking, sure

through their mind. effortless as breathing.

my thoughts are not technicolour- they are monochromatic

and they do not flow, they stick in the back of my throat

and fall from my lips malnourished, colourless.

so- ive learnt the colours.

albiet not organically, but i know them.

i know them by heart

i know how they might feel, the weight they hold,

the meanings other people see.

and i know how to swallow dye

so my thoughts come out, not quite as smooth, striking, or sure

but near enough that no one should ask.

and even if the dye tastes like dirt,

abrades my throat,

erodes my brain

its better than pitiful eyes, irritated exhales and the ever present public knowledge that 

i am never going to discover these colours in my own mind, for myself. 

it will never happen.

‘i never knew’ someone will say, if i tell them. ‘i’d never have guessed.’

i really dont understand this response, however common- seriously? thats all?

‘i didnt know’

its so painfully stupid- because of course you didn’t.

thats the entire point.

Author's Note

this poem is about my experience with autistic masking- but if you feel connected to it in a way other than that id love to hear :)
this is a little messy, but it is also the first poem ive published. heres to many more!