The Wild Knows Me It’s strange how a show can reach in and unlock something you didn’t know was buried so deep. I just finished The Untamed on Netflix, and it left me feeling raw—in the best way. What moved me most wasn’t just the characters or the loyalty and chosen family (though that did hit home). It was the way the wild was shown—untouched and vast, not just beautiful but free . It stirred something ancient in me, something autistic and wordless. A longing I rarely get to put into words. Watching it, I felt like the wilderness was calling to me. Not in a metaphorical sense. Literally. Like it was saying: “Come home.” For a moment, I imagined myself in Yellowstone—surrounded by mountains and sky, not needing to explain my silence, my stimming, my feelings that come too fast and too deep. There, I wouldn’t feel out of place. I’d just be . The wild wouldn’t ask questions. It wouldn’t label me. It would just accept me . There’s a kind of belonging in nature that doesn’t ...

✨ In the Quiet, I Found My Name ✨ Some nights, when the world feels unbearably loud, I close my eyes and slip into the quiet darkness behind them. At first, there were shapes: a steady green rectangle standing on end. Then they shifted—turning into “M”s, moving gently like dancers across black velvet. And then, something unexpected: whole pages of text appeared. The words weren’t in any language I know. They felt sacred, almost alive—like they were meant for me, but not yet. Like a promise waiting for the day I’m ready to understand. Yet, in all the unreadable lines, one word shone clear: my name. Caleb. “You belong here, even if you can’t read the rest yet.” So I wrote this poem to hold onto that moment: 🌙 The Book Beyond My Eyes 🌙 Behind closed eyes, in quiet dark, A book drifts—pages waving like soft breath. Words written in a language I do not know, Sacred, secret, ancient as the pulse beneath my skin. ...

Some nights, the weather outside feels like a mirror to the storm inside me. There’s something about rain—its chaos, its rhythm, its unfiltered power—that speaks a language I understand. It doesn’t hide. It doesn’t pretend. It simply is. And maybe, on the nights when I don’t have the words, I can let the sky speak for me. --- When the wind blows and the trees bend, The sky splits open like a wound that won’t mend. Rain comes crashing—hard, relentless— Like the weight of every thought I can’t confess. My mind is a warzone of torment and bliss, Each lightning flash a memory I miss. I ache with things I cannot name, But still, I crave the cleansing flame. The thunder roars like voices past, Screaming truths I can’t outlast. Yet in the chaos, there's something kind— A hollow calm that cradles my mind. Each raindrop taps against my skin, As if to say, “You’re still within.” I’m torn in two—wild and small— Longing to rise, bracing to fall. The trees, they weep with me tonight, Swaying ge...

Some pain doesn’t have neat language. Some days, all I can do is write through the wreckage—through the sensory overload, the internal storms, the silent battles no one sees. This poem came from one of those days. The kind where everything hurts louder, and my mind feels like it’s fighting itself just to exist. But even in that chaos… I’m still here. --- Still I Stand by Caleb The ground beneath me shatters, screams— Ripping through the seams of dreams. Lights like knives pierce through my skin, Noise like thunder tearing within. I’m fracturing, splintered, bleeding raw— A storm that’s clawing every flaw. I want to vanish, drown, combust— In endless darkness, in broken trust. My mind’s a cage of jagged glass, Reflections shattered, none to grasp. Even I can’t map this hell, A prison built in silence, swell. Some days the noise will never cease, A brutal war with no release. Other days, a wildfire rips my soul, Devouring every fragile whole. I want to scream—rip out my core, Escape this...