I was never “normal”, whatever that means,
just a kid with a loud head and torn up jeans.
Sat alone with my toys, making worlds on the floor,
while everyone else seemed to know something more.
Small talk feels pointless, eye contact feels bent,
like my brain leaves the room but my body gets sent.
I’ll say what I mean, no polish, no trim,
then wonder why faces go awkward and grim.
My head’s got no brakes, it just boots up and runs,
starts twelve little jobs, then gets bored of the fun.
Cars, gym, plans, ideas, all flying about,
then I’m halfway through life with the wiring ripped out.
For years I wore masks I never knew I’d made,
smiled through the noise, played the part, got paid.
Kept myself useful, kept busy, kept quick,
kept building a life out of stubborn and grit.
Then life hit hard, proper took out my knees,
grief, change, loss, and no room to breathe.
The mask didn’t slip, it cracked clean in two,
and suddenly I met the real me too.
And I won’t lie, that part was rough,
turns out surviving yourself is enough.
All the little tricks that kept me in line
stopped working at once and robbed me of time.
I need things in place, I need routine like air,
move one bloody thing and I’ll know it’s not there.
Sounds hit too loud, smells punch through the day,
and tags in my clothes can piss right off straight away.
I can talk like a machine when the topic feels right,
then lie there wide awake with my brain on all night.
I interrupt, overshare, go too deep too fast,
then replay every word like a crime from the past.
But don’t call me stupid, don’t call me weak,
I built my own path when the old one looked bleak.
No school badge, no smooth ride, no neat little plan,
still dragged myself up and became my own man.
I’ve got focus like fire when the target is clear,
I’ll outwork most people while drowning in fear.
I’ve got too much feeling and not enough filter,
a heart like a sledgehammer, hands on the tiller.
The gym is my quiet, the music my wall,
the place I can breathe when I’m sick of it all.
Not cured, not fixed, not some tidy success,
just learning my chaos and cleaning the mess.
So yeah, I’m autistic, ADHD too,
not an excuse, just the bastard truth.
I’m hard to love, harder to read,
but I’m loyal as hell and I’ll bleed when you bleed.
I masked for the world till the world fell apart,
then stood in the wreckage, face to face with my heart.
And maybe I’m messy, but I’m honest and real,
not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m no cheap meal.
I’m not broken, I’m built with strange parts,
all blunt edges, fast thoughts and overworked hearts.
And if the world wants smooth, it can keep its receipt,
I was made a bit different, but I’m still on my feet.