What I wouldn't give for just a single day
To walk inside your shoes, and see the world your way
What would I see, through your blue eyes?
Fluorescent lights upon a ceiling?
Or a sight so very painful
That it sends my vision reeling?
What would I hear, through your two ears?
An ambulance, with sirens blaring?
Or a sound so excruciating
That it feels like my eardrums are tearing?
What would I taste, through your sweet mouth?
Chicken dinner, mashed potatoes, and some beans?
Or textures so appalling
That they make me want to scream?
What would I smell, through your cute nose?
A bar of fragrant, scented soap?
Or an odor so repulsive
It makes my insides start to choke?
What would I feel, with your soft skin?
A gentle massage inside the shower?
Or a thousand tiny needles
Piercing through my skin with power?
What would I feel, during a meltdown?
That I'm fed up, can't take anymore?
Or that my senses are on overload
Penetrating my very core?
And when people talk to me, and I can't look them in the eyes,
And when people talk, and I just listen, never to reply,
Will they think I don't have manners, or common courtesy?
Or will they know that socializing's hard, especially for me.
But if they had a chance to walk inside your shoes, as I have done,
They'd know that living with autism is a daily battle to be won.
If I could, I'd gladly take your anxieties away
And allow you to live peacefully for more than just a day.
But for now, I'll try real hard to see things as you do,
And to walk beside you, boldly, proudly, in your shoes.
Kera Washburn
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