Sarah's writings

Writing is my way out of a lonely place
where only God knows. I feel alive to
type. The lid opens and out comes
pieces of Sarah, a girl with wings who
soars above the place with no hope
called autism. I am real when I write.
Autism is my prison, but typing is the
air of freedom and peace.
Excerpted from Are Your Eyes Listening The collected works of Sarah Stup

Lilacs
With peaceful play we made with lilac bushes a home away from adult eyes
where we cooked and swept and planned. When pans were donated,
a kitchen appeared. When watermelon grew in the adjoining garden,
a picnic area appeared. Lilac encased dreams. A place where futures were
held in an incubator. Purple heart and hearth. Seeds of privacy and comfort.
The beginning on home. Plants that bent down to children.
Excerpted from Nest Feathers: A celebration of family, home and memories shared

Fill up!
Listen to the stories around you.
Reach out others in your own way.
Don’t be afraid to be different.
Walk with God. Honor yourself.
Excerpted from Heart and Spirit: Words to comfort, inspire and share

Bedroom visits
Places old bring me peace,
Autism can rest in their presence.
Places free from voices battling
Places free from faces dancing
Places free from painful people.
Places with patterns          
      that fold but never dip.
Places with repeats
      that build but never skip.
Counting only heartbeats,
      not minutes lost;
Measuring only thoughts,
      not noting actions;
Listening to my soul,
      not my broken voice.

Places often visited
      can be trusted.
My bedroom knows my autism well,
It never reacts or is scared of me.

People expect,
      wanting me to be a fake normal;
But my bedroom knows not to corner me
      Into a waiting world.
In my room time synchronizes itself,
Never tiring of waiting
      till mind and body connect.

With sun or moonlit windows
      it watches my autism come out
      to pace and obsess
      and cover me with its shield
      of protection ...
From people.

From your weary world where pain consumes
Panicked autism finds peace in my bedroom.
Excerpted from Are Your Eyes Listening The collected works of Sarah Stup