This is a piece for my art degree, an expressionistic sketch I have made in my sketchbook.
My son has autism. He is 13 years old. He has difficulty relating to the world around him at times, suffers from anxiety and mild learning difficulties, but at the same time is very bright and articulate and has an amazing vocabulary. He feels trapped sometimes, by the autism. It can be little things, like his food averisons, or his sensitivity to sounds, or the unpredictable nature of our world. Sometimes he has huge meltdowns.
This toy, Iggle Piggle, was a gift from my late grandfather when Milo was a baby. My grandfather died three years later, followed by my son’s father a week later. This toy has a lot of sentimental value for me, as it takes me back to the love and support we had when my son was a baby.
This piece represents how my son feels as an autistic person, and how I feel as the mother of an autistic child. I think it speaks for itself.
Don’t want to write A sad poem, But my eyes Refuse to cooperate With my Polite smile And weather worn Bravado.
Feelings are seeping out Of closets Where I thought I had sealed doors with Art and beautiful music. Thinking I had grown beyond The tears. But I hadn’t. And haven’t.
I saw a homeless man Yesterday. His face a map of pain And dejection. And today the black girl On TV, With eyes that Sold a charity, And broke me. And my tears feel like Insignificance. Like a first world indulgence. Privilege. But I miss you.