Autism And Being Questioned, Then Accused By Law Enforcement
They come with hands that speak before the mouth,
With eyes that turn inward to keep their flame.
The room is loud with questions sharp as keys,
Each click a test they never learned to name.
Silence is taken for a hidden guilt,
Averted eyes for schemes that must be true;
A pause becomes a lie, a tremor fear,
And truth is lost in tones it never knew.
Words stumble—meant to walk, they run instead;
The body sways, a weather vane of strain.
“Stand still,” they say, to someone built of storms,
Whose calm arrives by wandering through pain.
The clock is cruel to minds that sort the world.
By careful stacks of sound and light and sense.
Commands collide; the echo multiplies;
Compliance shatters under overload’s expense.
A confession must be had at any expense to close a case.
This is torture and being tortured the tortured will do whatever they want, just to make the torture stop.
What mercy fits a language not your own?
What patience hears a heartbeat, not a script?
When fear grows loud, the body chooses flight,
And every movement seems a counterfeit.
Teach gentler ways to read the human face—
The truth may whisper, not present its case.
Let training learn the grammar of the quiet,
And hold its fire when answers need their space.
For justice fails when listening is thin,
When power rushes past a fragile cue.
Safety is born where patience learns to kneel
And see the world the other sees it through.
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