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The Poem
13/6/94 2.18pm
Somehow I think my brain is in my fingertips
I go to the word processor and words come out
I pick up a biro and hieroglyphs come out.
But when I try to speak these words, the
things that are in my heart, my brain fogs
up. And all I get is verbal diarhorea.
Somehow I think my brain is in my fingertips
I write most days and my thoughts flow out
I'm writing to my friends, people I trust
Okay I can talk. But I'm best one to one
Then it's my soul communicating with someone else's
And for that I don't always need words
Some of the best conversations I had were
With my friend, Sister Grossman at the MTC
We talked a lot but also eye-balled
I'd never done that before, or at least
Not to that extent. Here was someone with
Whom I felt comfortable with and could trust.
Best of all I could communicate and I
Didn't need words. I could just use my
Face. Waggle my eyebrows and smile.
Such people are hard to find and for the
Most part I feel a certain frustration ‘coz
My brain simply works at a different level
So it's true my brain works through my fingertips.
Somehow words fail me but that doesn't matter.
‘Coz I know you understand. 2.37pm
C Naomi T Warren 1994
Credits and Copyright
Copyright Naomi T Warren 1994
This poem cannot be reproduced in part or whole without express written permission from the author's Guardians.
Naomi was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder in 2000 at the age of 28. In 1994 during her first breakdown that was to lead to her diagnosis Naomi wrote many poems that expressed her humour and feelings about life.
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