Little Brother

My little brother didn't learn to talk

Until he was five or six years old

There was always something weird about him

But I didn't care because he was who he was


My little brother, my best friend

The one who always looked up to me

Even though at only seven

He could only speak a few words


When he spoke my name for the first time

He was around nine

But that still didn't matter to me

Because he was my little brother 


I helped him when he was sick 

When he was screaming in frustration or anger

I glared at anybody who dared make fun of him

Because he was my little brother


At the age of eighteen I knew for certain

That there was something wrong with him

So I took him to the doctor

Since mom was too busy to


When the doctor gave the news

Everything started to make sense to me

His OCD, his screams, his slow speech development 

On that day, the way I saw him changed 


No longer was he just my little brother

Now he was my autistic little brother

And was even more special then I could imagine

From then on I wore a shirt


That stated that my hero was my autistic little brother

And when my oldest brother went to the doctor

And was diagnosed with autism too

I just smiled and took him by the hand





This poem is about: 
My family


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