Still Here

Still Here

When my voice breaks and the words won’t stay,
I let my hands speak what I can’t say.
They write it out before I explode—
A quiet release from a heavy load.

Anxiety wraps me in silent fear,
And depression freezes me year by year.
But deep in the quiet, I still remain—
A flicker of strength inside the pain.

I type, I draw, I cry alone,
In ways the world has never known.
I speak in scribbles, sighs, and air—
Not less, just different—still aware.

I’m autistic. I feel too much.
My brain is wired with a softer touch.
But weird isn’t wrong—it’s how I survive,
And every small breath proves I’m alive.

So if you wonder what strength can be,
It isn’t loud—it’s quietly me.
I may not shout, but I persevere.
I’m weird, I’m wired—
And I’m still here.

—by Caleb🌙🖤

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Note for neurotypical readers:
Communication doesn’t always look like speech. Silence isn’t absence—it’s a survival skill. This poem reflects the quiet resilience of being autistic with anxiety and depression. If someone you know speaks less, struggles more, or “seems fine” when they’re not— lean in with compassion, not correction. We’re still here. And we’re worth hearing.