Letters on a page,

scrambled like my thoughts.

I want to understand, to really see.

Does anyone out there know how it feels to be me?

A piece here, 

a bit there, 

I sit here for hours,

All I can do is stare. 

People mistake me for slow,

they assume I do not know,

this uphill battle I fight daily

I have nowhere to go....

But forward, 

I must persevere.

I don't see things the way the world sees them,

their order is my chaos, 

their words are my walls. 

That is why most times, I just say nothing at all.

For if one could just take a minute in my mind, 

these jumbles and scrambles of word chaos they would find.