I believe that writing is a gift.
Writing is a mode of communication that blesses both the writer and the reader, that connects two brains and two souls in a way that transcends the physical limitations of speech, touch, and body language. The exchange between writer and reader occurs over a safe distance yet with penetrating intimacy. It impales the heart, electrifies the spirit, and educates the mind.
As a shy child, I relied on journaling and writing stories to get me through the awkwardness of growing up – being picked last in gym class because I was afraid of the volleyball, being kissed on the eyeball when I turned my head at the wrong time during a seventh grade kiss, being transferred to a new high school across country and treading water in a pool of new kids with different jeans and hairstyles. Throughout my marriage, the births of my babies, the evolution of friendships, my writing has celebrated, lamented, and shared what I am with anyone who blesses me by reading it.
I am now an outgoing adult. As an author, I love speaking to audiences and chatting with readers – throwing myself into a crowd of strangers thrills me. I love to look people in the eye and see what they are made of. I love how my written words help me and others understand each other.
But, for one special person in my family, writing is a singular lifeline to the social world around her.
My fifteen-year-old niece Erin is a talented writer. And Erin has autism.
She can’t throw herself into a crowd of strangers. She can’t look people in the eye to see what they are made of.
Her writing is a blessing for her, because she has difficulty with interpersonal communication in the physical world. The physical distance from readers feels safe for her. The emotional intimacy she shares through writing both wounds and inspires.
Her piece “Hateful Poem” will make you cry, make you think, and make you hope for more. Her writing is important.
If you feel as blessed by reading her work as I do, please share this post and write your comments to let her know.
Have you ever been told something you didn’t know was true?
I was told I was hateful – do you think so, too?
I am creepy. Is that true?
What am I to you?
Am I calm or am I mean?
Who should I believe?
Who tells the truth? Who tells lies?
If only it was as easy as eating apple pie.
I cried when I heard that. Would you cry, too?
Would you cry for the creepy little girl who sighs in math class? An emotional girl who acts without thought. How should I think? Should I even blink?
The tears and fears build up inside. I want to cry but it comes out dry. Do you think I could fly?
Fly, fly away from the screams of pain. Away from people who say I’m hateful. Fly away to a place of happiness. Where there is no pain, only bliss. A place filled with love and not hate. Does such a place exist?
A place where someone like me can find true bliss. The hateful girl that is me. But there is hate in all of us, just wait and see. There’s hate and pain in everyone’s heart. There was hate in everyone from the start. So, do not discriminate. For everyone feels hate. Hatred and pain. Hatred and pain. Hatred and pain. Do not be ashamed, for we all feel hatred and pain.
-Written by Erin Bryant 2018
You can read her other work at https://www.quotev.com/story/11297427/Hateful-poem