A poetic rambling about my mission as an activist.

It is to be my life’s work, this

- by which I mean being an activist.

I have a strange life honestly it’s not great

I’m in pain every second and tired who wouldn’t hate

this disjointed life, these dislocated limbs

who wouldn’t feel like they were suffering for past life sins?

I miss out on living for the need for incessant resting.

Stop start life like a wind up toy broken.

Time to kill. Life to live.

these gaps of times wasted

- I can’t forgive

Use them for something useful, I thought,

once I could properly think again my mind at last sharp and taut

it’s no big deal, only took months of zapping my brain.

Give it a few weeks, I’ll be getting zapped again.

but to return to my point,

why listen to me? Why do I think my voice is worth a platform?

What makes me think an autistic girl is best to perform

this news reader service

when communication makes me so nervous?

When did I get so arrogant? I wonder

Its only the circumstances i’m living under.

So much time so much to observe and learn

I can monitor the media, my criticism is earned.

It’s not because I think I’m special. Though I am, indeed, different

for some reason I do believe, if heard, I could make a difference

Really I think it just comes down to time

Your free time is almost certainly less than mine

so why bridle when I suggest that I’ve learnt things you could do with learning too

I promise you when it comes to being informed it’s not nearly enough to just watch the news.

Let me do the leg work,

let me treat through the trash

ill bring to you what is most hard to find and useful to know

there are so many things I intend to show

because what good does just me knowing do?

Shit all. Thats why I’m telling you.

It’s really just comes down to time.

I want to do something useful

With this all this free time

trapped in this prison body of mine.