A weight is lifted.

The ponderous elephant of ambition

Is easing off my once nearly punctured lungs.

The air is coming surprisingly less broken

Than it has in a long while.

I can paint in the madly beautiful shades of

Unadulterated truth again.

No one raising a brow,

No one pressing objectives.

Just me and my paints,

Flinging the droplets of color I fancy.

I Jackson Pollack to my heart’s content

Without a person to “tssk, tssk”

When it smears where it will.

No one prying open my autism this way,

Or saying my goals ought to be that way.

Just me in my private studio,

Able to breathe my life

For perhaps the first time ever.