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The Face You Can't See

Asperger’s Syndrome

What does this mean?

So few have heard

Fewer understand

How can I define it?

What is it like?

Once words are applied

Meaning seems so lost


Behaviours kept secret

For the world that he shares

With wife and child only?

How can this be?

Real, yet intangible

Unseen by others

How we seem like liars

Bitter, neurotic


Uncertain, incredible

Blamed, demoralised

Yet I am the backbone

Why would anyone believe me?

I look for your assent

You must tell me it is true

But you can’t see it happening

To you it is not real


He seems so clear,

So certain, so adamant

No need for compromise

His way is best

His opinions correct

They have to be

Or why would he possess them?

Somehow I believe him


But I know …

Something’s not right

How can I be sure?

How can I find help

When those who do listen

Only pity and placate

Look after yourself

All men are like that


Intellectual, gifted,

So verbal and self-assured

A guide, we thought

For a life of purpose and drive

Clear-cut values

Strong morals too

Admirable principles

Interesting views


Activities and interests

Show competence and skill

Loyal, faithful

Committed to a cause


Yet it seems like a façade

So perfectly worn

For when we go home

He’s nowhere to be seen


Just somebody there

Who looks quite the same

But sounding so different

He looks at me strange

Misunderstanding, getting angry

Taking tangents when we talk

Where did it start?

Will it ever be resolved?


Where is the truth?

His logic is not mine

My words carefully chosen

Don’t mean what they do

He resists my requests

He questions my needs

He loses touch

A disconnected world


Things seemingly trivial

Matter so much to him

His children are afraid

Not sure what he’ll do

Yet he misses the point

That we need him so much

We need him to love us

To be gentle but strong


To care and show empathy

Mutual understanding, support

But it all goes wrong

We do what we can

But to him it means something else

His competence under fire

Every comment I make

Is a personal attack


Some friends find him brash

Intrusive, tactless, cold

I try to explain

Smooth it over

Mend the rift I feel ashamed

Though his rudeness disconcerts

Belief in my tale still isn’t won


His words cut like glass

hattering in my wounds

My motives misunderstood

My love misconstrued

My spirit is broken

My strength nearly gone

Like a strangler fig vine

Asperger’s Syndrome consumes my being

Till I wither . . .


- Anon (3 August 2004)

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