4:48am September 21, 2014

This is exactly how language dickery hurts me.

Poem “I Built A Bridge” by Jim Sinclair.

I built a bridge
out of nowhere, across nothingness
and wondered if there would be something on the other side.

I built a bridge
out of fog, across darkness
and hoped that there would be light on the other side.

I built a bridge
out of despair, across oblivion
and knew that there would be hope on the other side.

I built a bridge
out of helplessness, across chaos
and trusted that there would be strength on the other side.

I built a bridge
out of hell, across terror

And it was a good bridge, a strong bridge, a beautiful bridge
  It was a bridge I built myself,
  with only my hands for tools, my obstinacy for supports,
  my faith for spans, and my blood for rivets.
  I built a bridge, and crossed it.

But there was no one there to meet me on the other side.

Here’s xyr explanation for the poem:

[This was the first of my poems to be published, in the spring 1989 issue of “The Maap,” appended to a letter to the editor about empathy . It was later reprinted in a few other publications. It’s also the poem I have most often wished I had never permitted to be published, because people so consistently misinterpret it as being about loneliness, or rejection, or other neurotypical social concepts that have nothing to do with what I was feeling on the night I wrote it back in 1986. This is about hurt, frustration and anger that come from dealing with people for whom nothing I can do is ever enough. I hope that in context of the other writings on this site, it will be understood as it was intended to be.]

And here’s the longer post I wrote about what language dickery does to me and why:

http://youneedacat.tumblr.com/post/98038576940/my-berserk-button-language-dickery

And here’s my own poem about what happens when bridge-building goes right, between two people of totally opposite neurotypes in many ways:

http://ameliabaggs.wordpress.com/2014/09/20/the-mind-bridge-a-true-story/