glass skin. (a reflection on autism).

Most won’t see it, the soft shimmer of difference beneath my skin. It folds in, tucks itself behind smiles and practised eye contact.

I walk among noise with the hush of a violin pressed too tightly in its case.

April comes in light blue, soft and bright, a sky asking to be known. They call it Awareness. I call it a mirror tilted at just the right angle to catch what’s usually missed.

Autism is not a single sound, but a chord; played in minor, sometimes dissonant, sometimes aching with beauty too complex for radio tunes.

Some of us are whisper-soft but brittle Others carry thunder in their bones. Some build cities out of repetition, routines like scaffolding in a windstorm.

I am the girl in the glass... bottle-shaped silence, echoing with understanding only I can hear.

Inside : Order Outside : Static

The world pours in too fast, light becomes razor, touch becomes storm.

And so I hold it, hold it, hold it... until I can’t.

The bottle tips, the fizz escapes and all they see is the moment I overflow.

But there is wonder here, too. Pattern-seeing, truth-finding, thoughts that move like rivers under ice.

Temple says: We need all minds. I say: Let’s stop trimming the wildness to fit the box.

This April, don’t just look... Feel. Listen to the language without grammar, learn to read the sky in the way I do: backward // sideways from the inside out.

So my person’s band, Kill Pinky, released their EP called Time. on Bandcamp today and will shortly release on Spotify and Apple Music.

If you’re into Punk Rock you’ll love this album! You can get it here

soggy socks and heavy hearts.

He could feel his feet sloshing about his now waterboarded boots. With each new step, the front seam of his sock rubbed against the sensitive tip of his toe. The discomfort was persistent, a quiet irritation that refused to be ignored.

But the physical awareness of what was happening in his boots was only a momentary distraction from the picturesque scenery before him. It was a sunny day in spring, and although a slight chill lingered in the air, the scampering deer and the sweat collecting on his brow reminded him that summer was fast approaching.

He had come to clear his head, to reclaim his sense of place in the physical world because his emotional world had been in turmoil for days. He sought the solace of the trail top, the quiet rustling of leaves and the sun warming his skin from the inside out.

The trail curved ahead, winding through a tunnel of trees where dappled sunlight flickered like old memories, warm and fleeting. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and watched it vanish into the crisp spring air.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, its song lifting and searching. It reminded him of the way she had spoken to him that night, hesitant and hopeful, as if waiting for a response that never came.

He wanted to answer now.

The weight of their argument still sat heavy in his chest, an ache he couldn't shake. it was like the dampness in his boots, uncomfortable and persistent, something he could only ignore for a time but not forever.

He loved her.

That much was certain. But love, he was beginning to realise, needed space to breathe just as the forest needed seasons to shed its old leaves and grow new ones.

He reached a clearing where the trees stretched high and unburdened, their branches swaying freely with the wind. He envied them. How did they endure the storms, the cold, the breaking, and still stand so tall?

Maybe the answer wasn't in resisting the storm but in learning to move with it.

He sank onto a flat rock and ran a hand over his damp forehead. The world around him didn't ask for certainty. The river kept flowing even when the rocks tried to hold it back. The trees kept reaching even after losing their leaves.

Maybe love was like that, too. Not something to grip so tightly that it bruised, but something to let move, change, and breathe.

A breeze lifted through the trees and whispered between the branches. A few more deer scampered across the horizon. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over her name.

He didn't have the perfect words yet, but he had something, an answer to a call she had left hanging in the air.

And that, he thought, was a start.

choked by melody.

Your metaphors are choking me. White knuckled like this, this part of us is the neck of a stickered guitar; all war cries and melodies but what is, what’s there to fret about? Does any of this strike a chord or are you notably indifferent? What’s the difference? I’m well-tuned to the rhythm dictation in your voice, I know what follows your intervals; I’m not new here. I long for arpeggios of your heart, :: true :: strong :: your hand lingering for a moment too long; a dialed-up shift at the end of your song. I count the chords until we’re together again, every note weighted with meaning, hoping this set ends with us. I beg for you once more, I beg for the hands that play me melodically, passionately, but I’m a shattered mirror, caught in a song only I can hear and while I hum it to you, you tighten your grip once more, because it’s you,  and – and – and your metaphors are choking me like final resonance… into utter silence.

hymn for the sober.

It's only been three years and a bit but every now and again I falter.

My feet move reaching for a bottle neck, to wrap around it like it’s holy as though tasting it means I’ll be swallowed wholly.

I’ve been asleep for weeks, only getting up to hit my knees against a bed, a bed that used to cradle a swirling, twirling head.

But now I don’t find my escape in a crystal glass. No lights dancing off the ice, no rocks, no ”I’m fine, I promise” lies.

It’s only been three years and a bit but now I know I won’t wallow, I won’t weep through this tale.

I’ll spit.

It’s already been three years and a bit and I’m sick of praying to drunken gods, sick of exorcising thirsty demons.

I’m sick.

I’m sick, sick, sick of it.

the snarl rends through woven skin.

The mood darkens, black ichor spills across the map, a bond tied only by sound and spite.

We dwell these chronicles, ribbons coil tight around the trees; we wander the forest of our misaligned slight.

Shadows delight in our wilting, the once vibrant waters of our binding turned murky with whispers of night.

A trigonal crystal quivers at my breastbone, stirring the ghost beneath my skin and I, I picture the bonfires of your eyes alight.

The lines I've left in the gutters of your books breathe verses of me, inwardly smiling but agrief, right here only the bones remain of hard pressed graphite.

we are the song playing on the car stereo.

He wakes me after band practice, his excited “Baby!” crackling through the phone like music in itself. My sleepy smile grows instantly full, a hundred-watt grin, as he tells me he’s missed me (it’s only been two hours). I can hear it in his voice, practice went well. He talks about his bandmates, how they worked through the songs tonight, and he laughs, recounting a joke someone made. I’m only half listening, really. The other half of me is basking in the warmth of his voice, every word a reminder that he called me. Me.

Every day, I hear the smile on his lips, and every day, I silently thank the gods for choosing me to love this man. Before I sleep tonight I will remember the way his nimble guitar fingers held onto mine as we danced in the kitchen, how the sound of his being escaped in song as we drove in the car, free and alive. 

Yes, our conversations are filled with “I miss you”s for now, but my heart is full of him and I am so, so in love.

My heart clenches tightly;

the throbbing of your voice

shooting stars across my spine.

I am yours, my love

and you are mine.

South Africa has welcomed me back with mild skies and a touch of rain here and there, a perfectly polite homecoming one would say. While the weather is behaving, my summer wardrobe leaves much to be desired!

Today, the shops became my battlefield and the few cute summer outfits I salvaged, my allies. And yet a part of me longs for the wintry embrace of Wales. I miss the chill, the layers, the coziness of being wrapped under a blanket in loving arms.

Honestly, I could easily hop on a plane and trade the sunshine for the sweaters and the winter wardrobe I left behind in the closet where my heart is stored.

Wales, when I return, I’ll even take the rain and frost, I promise!

Rwyf eisoes yn gweld eisiau caredigrwydd a swyn Cymru.

Yours always,

Luci

Eleven years ago, Tumblr introduced me to this absolute gem of a human being. @griefxaddict ‘s writing always kept me captivated and although he asked many a time how I was doing, I never truly answered.

In 2023, I finally replied moments after he asked and in a short time regretted never having done so before. We bonded over music, poetry, Lord of the Rings, veganism, and all the other intricacies that make us - us!

We’ve just spent our first Christmas/Hanukkah together with the pastel pink tree he promised me a year ago and with Jewish gonks next to a menorah.

I met his incredible family and he’s taken me to see some of his favourite places. Every day with him is a beautiful adventure.

We met here, in this writing community and I’m eternally grateful.