I could tell you of my longings, but first you need details.
Asperger's Syndrome is within me, a disorder from which I ail.
I loathe it not, take my word, though water I do bail.
My mind is like a sailing boat, whipped by wind and hail.
Walking to my classes, I hear them once again;
The students, they are mocking, and I crawl within my skin.
Is it my walk?
The stutter when I talk?
Is it my hair?
The clothes of which I wear?
Is it the way that I think?
Maybe I just stink.
Among these things I grow paranoid, and start to feel alone.
I shake with chills that are freezing me, from my skin to my bone.
So given now the details this tale does send,
The conclusion below does end:
The moral is imperative, but I mean it not to boast.
There's but one thing I want, and I want it more than most.
One moment of peace and quiet, silent as a ghost.