by Eliot, age 11
I am autistic and I have a collection of Beanie Babies in my room
I wonder why we have to write poetry
I hear wolves in the wind
I see fire in the night
I want the recipe for Bugaboo Tower Cake
I am autistic and I have a collection of Beanie Babies in my room
I pretend I have a billion dollars
I feel frustrated writing a poem I especially hate
I touch the keyboard
I worry about embarrassing myself
I cry picturing my old friends in Maryland
I am autistic and I have a collection of Beanie Babies in my room
I understand I’m good at computers
I say follow my dreams
I dream I am a good, successful game-maker
I try for what I want to be successful at
I hope I lead a good life
I am autistic and I have a collection of Beanie Babies in my room