The Blanket

For most of my life
I’ve been wrapped in a blanket
Whilst under it
I am unable to interact
Stuck with super glued outlooks
And thought patterns that circle
Over and over the same repeating facts
Under this blanket
My movements lack the motors of response
And idiosyncratic gestures remain reclusive
Hidden under the thick blanket
Of behaviours often seen as illusive
Watching the purple flowers sway outside
Trapped in my perceived haven
Marooned within my own world
With a cup of St. John’s Wort
And a chin left coarsely unshaven.
But I just wished people understood
This syndrome and all the days I felt alone
Because in an under adaptive world
Only knowledge will lead me to a sense of dignity
Allowing me to see little beyond the blanket
And that for the first time in my whole life -
To know what it’s like to be free.