Why I Boycott Autism Speaks

I meant to link to this on here when I originally posted it, but was somewhat distracted at the time due to circumstances in my personal life, and forgot.

Since I posted this, Autism Speaks has posted a “call for unity”–another attempt to silence the voices of the Actually Autistic people they claim to want to help. As a result, I felt it appropriate to add more–but formatting is annoying, and the text was hard to read, so it is now its own post.

Disabled Dragon

I wrote a thing a little while ago, which was supposed to be a short comment on my share of this “why I boycott Autism Speaks” post on a diary of a mom, but then it wasn’t short or really related to that particular post. Basically I accidentally essay-ed, which is a thing that happens.

Anyway, I said I’d post it as my own “boycott Autism Speaks” thing, but then life happened and spoons were none and anyway here are the words (slightly edited because Facebook took away my edit option for some reason?)

(cut because wow, that is rather long actually.)

View original post 536 more words

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A Song for Departing Friends

The air is cold but the sky is burning with a warming light,
And I think that I will stay until the fire turns to night.
And if you’ll stay here beside me than the two of us can see
If we can count the stars that meet the ground and flutter free.
But if it’s time for you to go, then I’ll sing you away,
And you need not fear nor worry for the ones who have to stay.
No, I swear you need not worry for the one you’re leaving here,
For the fire keeps me safe from all the things I have to fear.

On Holding My Tongue (Again)

Will there still be time for talking
When I am not afraid?
When my voice is no more meek or fraught
And my shame is unlade?

Will I still have breath for speaking
When worrying is past?
When I’m done fearing how I’m thought
Or how my thoughts are cast?

Will I still have words worth saying
When I worry not what’s said?
I suppose it really matters naught–
I shan’t speak when I’m dead.

Personal Blog

I’ve been thinking for a while about creating a personal blog on this site, where I can talk about random life stuff–food, crafts, dealing with disability, pets, whatever–and I’ve finally done it. There might be some overlap with this blog, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m really hoping to interact more with people on WordPress, so if your interested in that kind of thing, head on over and take a look.

Schedule Update.

Just a quick update to say that I won’t be posting this week. Due to circumstances in my personal life I am not in a good place to share anything I write. I’m not sure yet exactly how I will resolve the schedule change (that is, whether I’ll do two posts in a row or skip this post altogether), but Words of Realms should hopefully stay on schedule.

Now I Have Grown

When I was a child we would walk
through the dusk-warm breezes, down the street;
always parking in the same place,
by the magnolia tree, with its too-sweet smell,
so strong it filled my throat.
And I would bend down,
and pick the petals up, and run my fingers over them,
like feeling something from a place
that the world had forgotten to touch. Back then the evenings
took a magic air, and the sidewalk which we walked was holy ground.
And we would go to the temple, with her heavy
steps, and high and slanting thrones to either side,
where I and other children climbed like lions made of stone.
We would make our way into her embrace,
the temple, with her long windows and high ceilings,
curves and arches meeting like
the harmonies of a song,
her sanctuary just the right size
for a child’s heart.

Now time has passed, and I have grown.
My womanhood I am finding in her sanctuary,
sitting beneath her ceilings, with my cane in my hand.
And the songs we sing sound like lullabies, but my voice is deeper now;
I sing with old women, and I am a woman.
I sing with old women, and I am a child.
I see the people who I knew, but never knew their names.
I look at them and see their backs are bent, their hair is grey.
I sing with old men, and I look at my father.
I sing with old men, and I look at my father.
There are new children now, as children are;
a little girl is jumping in the aisles.
I watch her while she laughs and climbs the stairs,
each step carefully, as I did once.
Each step carefully, as I do now.
I watch the little girl, and smile;
I watch the little girl and see myself.
I watch the little girl, and smile,
and know I am a woman now, because she is a child.