Dyslexia
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I am a long shot
or at least that’s what I was taught.
Now, before you go off on me saying
Poetry, came to meWhen I was young and Couldn’t read!For the life of me,Nor could sing, but
I remember it dearly the prospect of opportunity.
From my room where I studied,
Then I moved forward.
Possibilities presumed me.
I love sports because
I don’t have to spell
to be good.
I love sports because
I don’t have to read to excel.
I love football because
when I tackle someone
I’ve assisted my team
I am not
Autistic and Dyslexic.
The doctor said, he said it was okay
but my friends, my friends stayed away.
Our mother, our mother stayed
but has ever since
faded, faded away.
The words hit the paper like the tears hit my wrists;
The ink flows like the blood from my arms;
The open spaces
Letters spinning
Words shaking
I always got my best grades in art class
Participation grades are where it's at because
As a below-average student, even I could pass
I always got my best grades in art class.
I watch them dance - spinning, sliding and moving.
At times they embrace, their shapes intertwined.
Buffeted by the impurtuity of the wise, and thought a fool for false reasons-- who is to say that a man is not himself capable for his own short comings?
Dear Asshole in my History class that just said that “Dyslexia” was a synonym for “retard”,
I'm dyslexic.
No that doesn't make me less smart.
No that doesn't make me illiterate.
Elementary school failed me. I appeared smart, looked smart, talked smart and was surrounded by smart friends. The only thing that separated me from all the other kids was my speech impediment.
Stupid stupid, they all said
as I read, as I speak
as I try, as I cry
as I see, they can all do it but me.
They're your age, they all said
as I sigh, as I try
as I look, at that book
My Rut life begins with my family.My father: An abusive selfish stranger who abandoned me 10 years ago.My Mother: An over controlling, over worrying mother.
My Rut life begins with my family.My father: An abusive selfish stranger who abandoned me 10 years ago.My Mother: An over controlling, over worrying mother.
To see with letters crossed,
A blur of black against white expanse,
Staring, squinting, turning, shaking off,
Words of clarity often lost.
Pounding, throbbing, aching eyes
Hiding behind my books,
slumped over my desk
Head down in defeat,
as I stumble over each word
I look at the kid in row 3,
whose sweat is dripping while he taps his feet.
Dyslexia is causing him the pain
of deciding whether the answer is 89 or 98.
Our teacher just sits in the back of class,
while the kid in row 3 fails math.
‘Buzz Buzz’Off goes the timer.It’s forever been a heart-dropping reminder.“I can’t do this, I’m awful at tests”Even so, I always give my best.But reading 6 pages in 5 minutes isn’t my specialty,I tend to approach these things so dreadfully.How fai
You laugh.
They stare.
I sit.
Why does this happen every time I ask a question?
I'm sorry I'm different.
I'm sorry my eyes let words on the overhead dash around like they are playing leap frog.
