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Dating with Autism
Confused by indirect texts & the way you bite your bottom lip, I disrobe my intentions, one text message at a time. I want your head resting on my stomach— voice harmonizing with consistency of breath.
If you and I exchanged how our neurons fire, you'd understand why I shake my leg through two- hour movies. Why girls puzzle me. Why there's never been mutual affection in my life. Why when asking me to look you in the eyes, I'm compelled to stare at the rotation of a ceiling fan.
Matthew Feinstein © 2019
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Lemon Law
I'm out of breath, bent over, hands resting on my knees— I ran to the gas station to pick up a bag of Cheetos for my friend.
He said he'd pay me ten bucks, but when I hand him the bag, he grins—Thanks for the free snack.
I ask my father why people don't keep their word. He laughs— Because they can. It's your job to sniff out the bullshit. Use your nose, God gave you one.
But my nose is a dud that I can't exchange.
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