I Don’t (Self) Care

Everytime I have the gall to feel dissatisfaction
At the cataclysmic pass rate I’ve achieved
That familiar little advice pops into my inbox
The one that implies little confidence is elixir
That unlocks all your widest dreams and reels them in
And makes all forms of loneliness redundant
Of course there’s a little summant in that
But I’ve been stargazing over the past few nights, and I wonder…

Is it so bad that It gets a little exhausting at times?
I know, lift your head high and all that
Take it from me: I’ve mastered the art
Of a love so selfish; Narcissus would blush
But it’s still a blow to your entire life
When your baby grimaces at your whole being

Cos it’s not the isolation that stings
That’s a wound well and truly self-inflicted
I’m not broken up about breaking up either
It’s the idea I’ve gone diving with the sharks again
And for the all the gashes and cuts, I’ve come up cheap
First Gold, then pounds and now merely pennies

It’s that feeling that years of love won’t protect you
From your special one treating you like chewing gum
Just something to be spat out, when the flavours unfamiliar
They’ll listen to enough whispers in the grapevine
Start to see your low maintenance in incredible highs
Start to tickle your guilt: For the unforgivable sin of being

No matter how intense our love had been
No matter the years of memories and affection we’ve built
It can all come undone in a matter of minutes
Cos my autisticness starts to become noticeable
Cos after a bad day, my disorders are too intense
“Why can’t you perform these ultimately inconsequential
Social acts exactly the same as everyone else?”
That’s an easy one: Cos no one’s cared before you honey

That’s the part that really starts to sting
Where a soap opera really turns into a tragedy
You can make yourself better if you’re an arsehole
You can spruce yourself up if you’ve gotten in a rut
But how does one feasibly address a review like that?
Time and time again romance only serves to prove
You’re only good for a temporary pit stop
A source of thrill and spills, before it’s back to work
Cos no one like you is forever

So my god, how I got self love in abundance
I got time for a staring contest with my reflection
But the fact I gotta reserve so much love from myself
Cos there’s no chance I’m getting any from my lovers
I daydream of the day that love comes with no drama
With someone who doesn’t wince at my neurology

Is it really an exercise in the art of surrender
To admit it leaves you tired every now and then?
Leaves you feeling an extra stone or two?
And after the fact, the idea of swimming for the social climate
Just to find another lover who leaves with a gag
After their vision starts to focus on who you really are?
Oh it just leaves me feeling a little tired is all
Makes me wanna take the summer off
And catch up on all the sleep I’ve missed out on
But of course that just delays the issue
So tell me how hard do I have to love myself?
Until someone sees that summant in me that I see
And how many people do I have to let down before I get there?

Sebastian Noël

Locked In

I’m feeling the exile once again
But it somehow stings a little less this time
Cos the more I try to integrate into it
The more I’m left feeling locked outside the library
Is it worst to be exiled from the 2 point 5 children life,
In a thinly veiled attempt to curb divergent mind numbers?
Or is it perhaps worse to the be locked in
In a social model curated without your people’s input?

Can’t help but wonder when comparing
The epilogues of those recently let in the door
Covering every pour and hole
She’s suffocating from the droll
Of spectre’s hanging down her neck in idle times
Every breath, word and call, twisted and poked
Reminded of the needlessly gendered social hierarchy
Calculated, purposeful, negging call of the crows
An ecosystem made invincible, impenetrable
Perhaps it is worse to be locked in….

Worse to be locked with their grip on your arms
Forcing you to choke the life out of your love
Cos that’s the mark of a Mars in charge
Even worse when you look down
And you see who’s holding your arms, orchestrating the choke
“It’s what the Mars kind should do” she says
Every breath, word and call, twisted and poked
Reminded of the needlessly gendered social hierarchy
Perhaps it is worse to be locked in
Where your identity is out of your control

Sebastian Noël

Their Narrative (II)

I bellow and exhausted sigh
While flicking through the saved pics on my Nikon
That’s all the emotion I can muster these days
A far cry from the drunken nights slumped in alleyway

I recognise backdrops from Colchester all the way up to York
With each year since 2010 getting their spotlight
I can see old flames, lost loves and deserted comrades
Clinging to my shoulders, with me busting out the fingerguns

A heartbreak comes as no surprise anymore
Just an inevitable outcome
Of any satellite coming into orbit
A part of my cycle, till gravity dictates otherwise

Still got pictures of us all on the SD card
From posing on the London Ferry, to coming home from Mayfair
Or V-Festival; back when good people where on the roll call
I go through them all, like my final years in a nursing home

Mental illness can be a drain on merriment
You can do everything by the book
But all it takes is disturbing the precarious balance
And it’s the scapegoating that sours the whole thing

I just want to take the easy way out
Put all the blame on this psyche
Beat my personality to a bloody pulp
Until it looks like something you could love

It felt easier to just put “Abusive” on my business card
With zero critique, and call it a day
“Yes dear, even your tendency to entertain ableist ideas,
That’s my fault too” I say with a heart halfer then half

But I can’t just do it like that anymore
Out of character for me: But I’m putting value in living
That’s right! So now putting it all on the line
Just to keep you pristine, don’t feel worth it anymore

I’m mourning a severed connection tonight baby!
Not of you and I, but more with society
Yeah I’m sure it’s easy to make out you’re an isolated case
But this is rewrite number 6 of the same narrative
My reviewers are getting sick of the reprise
Oh I know, imagine how it feel living it?

Cos people like to play make believe
With my good old friend: BPD
Like he’s crawled out of the Black Lodge
Pulling my arm, planting a 44. in hand
Oh but I don’t think it’s pointing at you, oh no no
And in fact, the fingerprints would reveal something interesting

BPD isn’t the aggressor, I’ll tell you all
BPD is amassing a collections of little red flags
From the school of “Why aren’t you like sane man?”
And not running for the hills the second that quote lands
BPD is fool me 10 times, still shame on me
Just for the oft chance it’s just a phase
But you don’t like hearing that? Okay I hear you
I remember Goffman’s rules of Stigma, I get you
So I’ll admit I did put that pistol in your hands
And I gave you 4/5 odds you’d take the shot
But darling…. You didn’t have to take aim
You def didn’t have to pull the trigger
And for sure you didn’t need to hit my vitals
Now I’m on the floor bleeding for my life: That’s Borderline

I feel like the time I spent with you all was wonderful
I’ll look back on these selfies like monuments
My first. Kiss. Time. Fling. Both Mono and Poly.
They’re nodes in my timeline, like slices of Nirvana
During extended periods of solitude
But… I also make sure to keep them as reminders
A row of little Purple Hearts on my shelf
Proof of surviving the decade irregardless
And a warning for the decade to come
Of what it looks like, when your seen like a free ride

Sebastian Noël

Their Narrative (I)

(CW: Ableist Language/Slurs)

The disclosure’s taken a turn for the worst
People don’t see a declaration they see a curse
Or worse they lick their lips and see a chance
To express their neurosis guilt free at last!

Just imagine, accountability out the fucking window
You can let your empathy run at an all time low
If you feel anything, it takes sole priority
Cos your irrational supersedes any solidarity

And if they start to challenge that? Well it’s easy enough!
Just say they’re on a mad one; the stupid spasticated borderline cunt
And what if they catch wise and start to call you out on it?
Just call it abuse to your faux-victim mates on the LovedOnes Reddit

They can suppress it all they want, but it’ll never be enough
Not when you’re eyeing a free ride with your affinity bluff
With your coverted support peaking at a sorry looking glance
I can hear you now: “Ah the perks of retarded romance”

Sebastian Noël

No Future For Us

I can tell they’re uncomfortable when I talk about it
I know it goes against every fairy tale they were ever taught
The idea that life’s virtues aren’t a guarantee
Sends a damn chill up their spines
That a house, a family, a spouse or a kid
Ain’t just gonna fall on your lap before you hit 30
That you can expire from this life just fine without them
Or even worse; that maybe forces unseen keep them out of your reach

But sit your typical ass down, you’ll do just fine
But my little autistic self ain’t safe for it at all tho
I’ve seen the future all nice and clear
I adjust my vision every time, but the image is the same
It’s me uttering my last words to an audience of no one
Even the flowers in the vases seem glad to see the back of me
Sadly no one could make it for my death you see
Their schedules are full with work and the kids
They couldn’t find the time to see me snuff it
Typical, we all only die once too….

I can’t imagine my future with the lil’ picket fence thing
Where the money coming from? Who’s renting?
Who’s hiring a spastic like me so I can afford the mortgage?
Who’s sticking around long enough to co-inhabit with me?
When the only successful love I’ve felt is on borrowed time?
Who’s thinking me man of the house, when I reject that masculine bullshit?
And even if I hid it all, brought a beautiful son or daughter into the world
Who’s to say social services ain’t watching my every move?
Terrified of the empathy I could teach a generation
Ready to kick the door down, medical papers in hands
Take my kids away, and breed them compliant in the orphanage
Who’s to say every inch of depravity wasn’t planned from the start?

But I’m getting ahead of myself here
Cos I’m still at the point of disgust at first sight
In a social ecosystem designed to keep us out
You got 3 replies to inspire their attention
When replying at all drains the energy out of you
And god help you if it ain’t about The Walking Game Of Bojack
That’s where we’re at, our down time has been streamlined
Did you spend it doing what you love? Or did you spend it correctly?

From that petty stuff to the real insidious shit
Like your co-workers looking at you like Bigfoot
When you dare walk in 5 years older, still not a wife, not a mother
They talk to you in the same tone as they would refugees
What possible calamity could’ve befallen you to be this way?
Diddums, poor girl, they ask what’s wrong with you?
No quicker way to feel the reaper crawling down your neck
Tapping his fingers on your back in time to the tick of the clock

But what the fuck do these people expect?
When they still can’t cope with us finally being the real us?
“It’s really unattractive when…” “that’s so unmanly if…”
Too queer for the straights, to straight for the queers, you know how it is
No matter how much self love you got on reserve
There’s no way you can’t view yourself defective after all that
But of course “Having no confidence is so gross”
You gotta laugh, they’ve designed our exile from affection perfectly
Designed so my brothers don’t pass enough to have ever had it
Designed so that my sisters are forced into it before they’re ready
And if they’re not ready? They’re happy to let the bio clock time out
Cos they don’t want us to breed if we don’t step in line

“Entitlement” or some shit like that right?
Heaven forbid we crave what the typicals are given in spades
That we crave a little security in our lives
That we crave a little love to come home too
That we crave feeling like our lives are equal to yours
That we crave feeling like we’re not alien
That we crave someone enjoying our company
That we crave someone lusting for our bodies
That we crave the right to feel safe in our homes
That we crave the right to feel safe being off kilter
That we crave having a little hope
That we crave having a way to stop feeling doomed
That we crave some sympathy when the sensory overloads
That we crave some sympathy if it takes us a while to talk back
That we crave thinking we can make something of ourselves
Or even that we crave feeling like people don’t want us dead
That we crave knowing people don’t hate us
That we crave knowing people don’t think us inferior
That we crave a little fucking time to figure it out
That we crave just another year to get a handle on it
Heaven forbid we wanna live like you
Heaven forbid we want love like you
Heaven forbid we get up in the morning
Heaven forbid we co-exist with you
Heaven forbid I inhale oxygen in my lungs
Heaven forbid I exhale that CO2 out of them
Heaven forbid I live at all
Heaven forbid….

Empathetic Generation

Another landlord slam’s the door on my face
Kindly introduces my arse to the public domain dirt
Only after digging around my files
Following an uncomfortable interrogation?
“I hear Borderline’s are mental, are you mental?
Will you go ape and wreck the whole house?
I worked with people who had it you know”
“Hang on, my question first: Who told you?”
Nothing to report there, keeping the mole anonymous
Just gotta take it on the chin I spose

But I know we’ve hit the empathic generation
When I regurgitate that tale in passing
And it’s left to weigh down the room
Back with a look of disgust

No contesting:
“Oh yeah? That didn’t actually happen”
No gaslighting:
“You sure you got that right mate?”
Just a “That sucks man.” With a swig of the brew
That’s enough empathy to make a grown man cry

– Sebastian Noël

Proud Spastic (W.I.P)

An interaction goes fine, proceeding streamline
But uh oh something’s amiss
I spoke too tactless, pronounced my ‘um’ too harsh
Place a ‘come on’ where it shouldn’t go
That’s all it takes for young minds to rage
For the olive to transform to a thorny rose
On the surface your fine, hey your just defending yo’ self
But better should’ve known then to talk to a retard right?
Well like your crocodile smile, the output don’t align
With the intention of inside being sublime
If you hear me out, I just wanna help man
But that’s an ear too much for ‘one of us’ I guess

Diagnosis on the rise, we’re gonna take over in our prime
It’s an epidemic in the USA, we’ll have to start to carry in time
Carry empathy, an extra beat, a shift in social attitudes
It’s a fucking PC nightmare I tell ya dude!
It’s in the food, it’s on the television
It’s in the water, it’s in the vaccines
Cut the vax, let the little Christian child shiver in his bed
Cos his mumma would rather he die then become one of us
Nah your right, bring back the penalty just for us
Missing the cue from that joke: Get the chair
Wall flowering at the party: Get the injection
Truly death is our only salvation

Oh it’s a slasher fic in my room
You guessed it, another NT gettin’ tetchy
Oh god the spastics out, proper blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
Well I ain’t gonna shy from no blah’s
I’m spastic plain and simple
And I won’t curb my tongue when I’m excited
I won’t sit still and bind in the corner
I repeat jokes, I spit when I pronounce my P’s
I miss the punchline, I misinterpret the word
I mistake being condescending for agency
I trip over my big-ass tongue every sentence
But if that’s your do or die, what’s that say about you?
Sorry I bring discord to your community
Sorry I put a kink in your perfect victim complex
Sorry I was born, and I promise I’m sorry I exist
But neither me nor any of us are going anywhere
But man you love us on the job right?
“You lot are good with computers right?”
“He comes in everyday and doesn’t complain”
Oh yeah THEN you can’t get enough of us, don’t need no cure
But when your one to one at the end of a coffee mug
And you realize you have to suppress the freedom on your tongue
Then it all goes out of the window don’t it?

Another scar on the arm, but no skin off my nose
I take my technicolour mind, and inspire on someone else’s time
I’ll create on someone else’s time
I’ll advise on someone else’s time
You can talk down to me on someone else’s time
Talk about me like an animal on someone else’s time
Like when the plastic activist raises a brow
“Is this spastic talking back to me?”
Like when masculinity erodes in my hands
“Is this spastic squaring up to me?”
Yeah this spastic make’s a point too
He’s got more to him then a stagnant shot straight mind
Shock! He knows the facts you need too
Shock! He can understand the opinion of others
Shock! He can socialize, hell even start a conversation
Shock! He can bring the charm if he chooses too
Out done by ‘one of them’, yeah you bet
I’ll forget more then you’ll ever know
My comment lands harder then your entire routine
I draw in, in the time it takes you to repeal
And you bet when I hit the sheets, it’s fucking Armageddon
While they Bambi to the phone to call in sick for work
They ask me how on earth I do me?
You know, I know, everyone should already know
It’s the same reason I cast the comments and scream it loud:
I’m a proud spastic!

Sebastian Noël

Pacifier (W.I.P)

Everything fine, but is that the danger?
It’s okay from a progressive standard
But it leaves him feeling a little mismanaged
The employee tag says devoted other
But I don’t think that’s what she sees
She can call him useless to Karen down the pub
But it’s all smiles and well wishes
When she gets home and prepares the roast

Getting onto month 5 on the dole
It’s no one’s fault in theory
When the agency feels like rolling the dice again
It’ll all be back to the normal for the lad
He’s not the kind of boy they keep an eye out for
Only to be given grace, never given a chance

Until then he’s left to monitor the ticks of the clock
For the time the nursing home loosens her cuffs
His heart gives rise at the sight of her
Her heart sinks as the side job merely begins
He can’t seem to get anything right
He can’t enjoy her cooking try as me might
He couldn’t remember the chores in time
He coudln’t remember her favourite colour
He struggles to find the right words to say
Every word he digs from his pockets go down awfully

Why doesn’t his brain work like everyone else?
Why can’t he just do these simple fucking things?
Why is he such a stupid fucking cunt?
The questionnaire that pushes past her fangs
His dream is growing callous working the machine
To keep his life in permanent stasis
Did her patience eroded over time?
Or maybe he just didn’t notice it was always like this
Her eyes uncover, a lover; pacified
The feeling that fastens over time, before his very eyes

Sebastian Noël