I have learning disabilities, it’s not one that can be spotted by looking closely at the features of my face. And because it remains hidden I fear that sometimes I am misunderstood because of it.

When I share that I have a learning disability I fear that people see me through a different lens than they previously did.

I’ve had family members who have known about my learning disabilities tell me they didn’t know I was smart enough to make it on the honor roll even though I made honors every single semester of high school.

When I tell people I have a learning disability it’s as if they expect me to then cause a disturbance and act out. But I sit there quietly absorbing everything.

When I tell people that I have learning disabilities they immediately start putting limits as to my abilities and what I can and can’t achieve. So it’s easier to say nothing and silently prove them wrong.

When I tell people that I have learning disabilities people tend to assume that my IEP and accommodations exempted me from hard work. I HATE when people assume that. I worked twice as hard as to learn the topics. And even though my accommodations lessened the amount of math problems I had to solve I would sometimes end up doing more than what I was assigned so that I could make sure I mastered the concept.

When I struggle with learning or doing a task because of my learning disabilities people get frustrated with me and tell me that this should be easy. But in actuality my brain works differently and I may need to see it done a couple of times or have it explained in a different way in order to understand.

When I tell people I have learning disabilities they tend to cheapen my achievements as if I weaseled my way through a Master’s program and was handed a degree instead of earning it myself. In reality though I worked countless hours to make my way through grad school and to end up where I am today.

I had a boss who upon finding out about my learning disabilities made some distasteful and unprofessional comments about them as if I were bad and defective and not fit to serve in ministry. Oh the irony that this was after we had done a whole Inclusion Initiative geared towards people with disabilities. She barred me from helping with it.

When I tell people that I have learning disabilities they often tend to question or doubt my capacity for leadership. But I can still lead and I lead with a greater empathy and understanding because I know what it’s like to struggle.

I wish when I tell people I have learning disabilities they would see me for who I truly am…..

An intelligent
Inquisitive
Attentive
Hardworking
Tenacious
Creative
Problem solving
Professional
Empathetic
Leader

Who demands and deserves respect
And who can do whatever she puts her mind to.

You don’t get me
You never will
I’m sitting here screaming
And you still
Don’t hear me
Don’t listen
Don’t care
Don’t see
There is chaos
Inside of me
A mind that is not my own
Consumed by thoughts
That I don’t own
Things I say
I really don’t mean
Never heard
Often seen
The highest of highs
The lowest of lows
I don’t understand it
But that’s how it goes
I’m tired of the meds
Tired of pills
The pain isn’t numb
It actually kills
My spirt
My soul
My will to survive
Yet I go on
Trying to thrive
Navigating roads
Yet unable to drive
I’m tired
I’m drained
Not mentally there
To young to give up
To old to care
What you think
How you feel
You haven’t a clue
How it feels
What it’s like
When you are the glue
Holding together
A paper so thin
Knowing I’ll lose
But hoping I’ll win
So please be kind
When I am around
I’m totaly lost
Looking for found
Mental illness
It’s not for the weak
Wanting to hide
But forced to seek
Love
Acceptance
You think that you know
You haven’t a clue where my mind can go
And I don’t know either
It’s truly a trip
When you hold on so tightly
But never had a grip

I miss being confident.
Having a secure attachment style.
I miss not being on antidepressants
or anti-anxiety pills
or testosterone.
Being content with life.
I miss my in-laws—
More like family than my actual family.

I miss a life that doesn’t turn itself inside-out every other week.
One week, I’m Dad of the Year.
My kismet, supposedly, according to astrology.
Demystifying geometric terminology,
explaining the difference between punching up and punching down,
helping girl scouts glue
and get
Their shit together.

The next, I’m wearing eye-liner
Mascara
Deep inhale of poppers;
searching for an escape.
Like an episode of Euphoria — surrounded by
Creatures of the night.
The duality of man isn’t poetic.
It’s fucking comedic.
But like, the Shakespearean version of comedy…
Tragic.
Heartbreaking.
Wretched.
But wretched enough to laugh hysterically at.
People win Oscars for playing these types of roles, after all.
Can I at least get some residuals out of this?
No? Fine.

I’m not a fucking poet, anyway.
But this poetry class sure makes me want to be one.
I googled how to write poetry—
Find different words.
Avoid is/was/are, when possible.
Be vulnerable.
Experiment
With
Line Breaks.
Whatever.

So I put on my eyeliner and mascara
And put the lip gloss in my pocket for later
As I plan my temporary
slipfast
drift
Windows down, racing,
Crisp night sky enters
Montrose lures.
Madonna or Gaga drown out the voice
Telling me to stay home.
Gin and tonics mute my poor, wrinkled brain
Filling in the cracks, to make it smooth.
Smooth brains don’t think.
It’s an insult, and a metaphor
so it works.
Choking it
when it screams at me to stop numbing it.

And I wear the makeup
Instead of the makeup wearing me.
Because you need confidence to pull off wearing makeup.

My own is strong and fearless
It has scars but is fearless.
It has been silenced and shooed.
But now stands tall and renewed.

My own is purposeful and unique.
It tells a story that has made its peak.
It shines light into those who are weak and provides words for those who cannot speak.

My own is beautiful and bold.
It has depth and is precious as gold.
It seeks value and truth.
The love of my own can never be renewed.

My own is my voice. It’s my weapon of choice.
Sometimes misunderstood but protected from all the noise.
It’s powerful and worthy, standing out no matter the journey.

Always pondering on where marks were made.
Never wanting to feel betrayed.
My own fills dark rooms with light
Something that will be worth the fight.

I always felt misunderstood
Being the black sheep of the family or the escape goat
I knew the dynamic wasn’t healthy but i couldn’t verbalize it
I would just lash out because of it ,
whenever i felt overwhelmed i would lash out again
Cursing out someone ,hurting someones feelings because my feelings were hurt
Not knowing maybe they didn’t know how to use their own words
Sometimes its a cycle and they didn’t question things , they just continued the behavior
How sometimes family members felt like strangers
For the longest time i didn’t feel emotionally safe i was always in danger
Not from physical harm but by verbal hard and those words i would use back were razor sharp
Over the years of going to therapy along with maturing and taking psychology i started to see
Alot of this behavior was learned and gone through generations
Well it stops with me even if its the end of me it will stop with me
No longer the villain now as my siblings got older they understood the method to my madness
All the moments as when they were kids they did not get until they grew up and started to get it
The villain was the hero all along
I started to establish and enforce boundaries and it has been what has saved my sanity
Also has saved my family , we have along way to go but we have come so far
Now with the education and emotional maturity i can sit down and have conversations to be heard and understood
Even if we agree to disagree that’s fine with me
No longer yelling or saying anything to intentionally hurt someones feelings
We are closer because of it
Love your “misunderstood” son ,brother ,grandson , nephew ,friend
Isaac

In shadows deep, where secrets dwell,
A heart so tender, beneath a shell.
Choices made in the dark of night,
Searching for love, just to feel right.

Unseen abuse, scars from the past,
A child’s heart broken, growing up fast.
Running away, chasing the light,
Yearning for love, in an endless fight.

Yet here I stand, keeping it real,
With love’s tender touch, I’m made of steel.
Beneath the surface, storms rage inside,
A story of hope, where pain can’t hide.

So judge not the paths that I chose to roam,
For every misstep, I still seek a home.
In the search for love, we each play a part,
With wounds that linger, yet still, I have heart.

I’m worth more than a few licks between my legs. More than your legs caressing a sacred place I sometimes call home. You do it so well in making me believe I’m the true source of what you need, even though I know deep down I’m really not what you want or need. Love me, I’m a touch me please. Not just your side piece. I like Reeces, but that doesn’t mean take all my pieces until I have nothing
left for me. Yes I’m a masc, but I don’t mask who I am. For I am and will always be a woman. Underneath these clothes are vulnerability, desire, needs that you refuse to see. Stop intentionally making my femininity irrelevant. You’re not the only one who wants to be bent. You see, that toxic masculinity has your mind so skewed it’s almost impossible to fix. I refuse to try and try again only to learn over and over again, my love is simply not enough to carry the both of us. I want things that don’t qualify as a “true masc woman”, but you withhold things from me simply because you choose to see me as a placeholder. I’m not your filler man until you get who you really want. I’m not a fantasy. I’m reality. Hold me, dominate, reciprocate. Keep going until I see the heavenly gates. A simple question would’ve provided the answers. I keep it real simple. Loving me is not a game. It’s a privilege.

I accept you vs I’m compliant towards you. These two words are often confused, confused like me. Acceptance ; when someone agrees with a group and internalizes their beliefs. 
Compliance ; when someone publicly agrees with a group, but doesn’t change their own beliefs.
You date acceptance but are married to compliance. You dip your toes in the ocean but never fully submerge yourself, then go tell stories about how you swam for hours. If you actually swam for hours you’d know what lives in the deep ocean , what pains , what heals , what I actually am. But you just dip your toes. Maybe you’re scared of what you might find in the depths of the ocean. Am I selfish for wanting you to swim or should it be a natural instinct to want to learn ?
I don’t know. You say I make you proud, but are you proud of parts of me or all of me ? Which one is it ? Do you gloat about parts of me or all of me ? Which one is it ? Are you only accepting of the dreams you envisioned for me or all the things that actually happened while awake ? Which one is it ? Is it okay to hold my girlfriend’s hand while you’re around or do I need to hide so no one sees ? Which one is it ? Can I love fully and loudly without you praying for my lost soul or do I need to only love in the confines of what love means to you ? Which one is it ? Do you accept me or are you compliant towards me ? Which. One. Is. It.

I am beautiful

So I don’t understand

I mean on most days, speaking candidly, I feel beautiful

My skin care routine is top-tier

And it took half a decade to get to this point

The point where I can be more relaxed in my routine and still feel at home in my own skin

Where my face and arms and the rest of me is so smooth

My Werther’s Original skin truly compliments itself

A dark honeycomb shaded without one blemish that gets complimented almost daily

A gentle skin routine over pours that blanket a strong jaw

Beautiful, soft cheeks, and tender obsidian eyes that glimmer when I smile

A star-striking sight

Hair, so dark and rouge and intertwined into lovely braids

I’m so much beauty, so much kindness

And so much personality in a petite package

So I don’t understand why it isn’t commonly said

Why it wasn’t commonly understood among potential connections

Or kindhearted souls

As irrelevant as the question may be,

How can such a masterpiece be before someone’s eyes,

And be misunderstood so heavily?

As I walk through this mystical forest, to a destination unknown, all I see is beauty. Beauty not seen by others, but seen by only those who have a desire to understand. Nature is a constant source of regeneration and change, just as beauty to a human. We accept the changes that are so easily recognizable, until it comes to ourselves.

Just like nature’s regeneration we must regenerate ourselves. Growth, passion, excitement, joy, pain, sadness, all emotions encompassing us in order to be complete. Just like the spring sun, we must come out of the darkness, whole. Even though the pain can be consuming, the sadness illuminating, and the grief depressing, only in this can you ever appreciate the spring sun, when the light comes, and the joy begins.

Nature changes with the seasons. How can we protect ourselves from the changing of the seasons? To align and grow, to hide and be in sorrow, to love and unite, the choices are ours. Letting go of the seasons, letting go of our preconceived notions, letting go of control, letting go of limitations, letting go of desire, letting go of others, in order to project into destiny.

in life I’ve always felt kinda off,
never completely,
always just kinda

the kinda off that you notice when you catch a glimpse of your smile in the mirror,
teeth crooked enough to be noticeable but never crooked enough to be fixed.
that kinda off

the kinda off that you only see when you take a few steps back and really take in the slightly uneven shelf you put up in your new apartment.
tilted enough to stand out but not tilted enough to be remounted.
that kinda off

the kinda off that you hear every time you play music through the speakers you blew out two years ago,
the sound quality is bad enough to complain, but never bad enough to be replaced.
that kinda off

the kinda off you feel when your grandma buys you a shirt that you’d never wear.
you feel guilty enough to keep it but never guilty enough to wear it
that kinda off

but crooked smiles laugh the loveliest laughs,
tilted shelves hold the most precious memories,
terrible speakers play the best songs,
and shitty shirts are make the best pajamas,
so that’s why I’m happy to say:

“In life I’ve always felt kinda off,
not completely,
always kinda,”

I forget sometimes that I play dead
while I’m alive in my head,
so I turn into a puppet,
performing for strangers I’ll never see again,
clapping along with the rhythm of a conversation
I don’t know how to join.

Simon Says: “Go back to your cage,”
and I obey,
letting the circus of my mind keep me entertained.

Self-destruction never felt so familiar,
but it’s a routine I know well,
so I hide there—
a place to forget the awkwardness of breathing
when the world is watching,
when I can’t be anyone but the ghost of myself.

See, I see dragons in the clouds,
pirates on the street,
and treasure buried in the spaces between words.
I’m Alice, falling,
finding safety in the rabbit hole
because it’s quieter there.

Forgive me if I hide in these thoughts
and call it peace,
but it’s not you,
it’s me—
a thousand thoughts running wild,
all seducing me,
a mental circus that can never sit still.

I wish my mind were kinder,
less demanding,
less sharp with its edges.

I wish it didn’t take everything so personally,
but rest is a luxury
I can never afford.

So, forgive me when my eyes glaze over,
and my thoughts wander—
concentration escapes me
like a dream that can never last.

Me, myself, and I are strangers
in a house we built,
but none of us are brave enough
to ask for help,
because the patience it takes to untangle these thoughts
feels like something I’ll never find.

I wish my answers came easier,
but when you ask,
what’s on my mind?
I choke on the words,
the answers taste like nothing at all—
“I’m fine,”
and I say it like a script,
memorized, rehearsed,
until I believe it.

The show must go on,
but it’s a performance I can’t keep up,
so I wear the mask of a clown
and hope no one notices
how much I’m pretending.

I’m buried beneath my thoughts,
and this little light of mine
is flickering,
waiting for someone to notice
that I’m lost in the dark.

So, let’s talk about distractions,
about the peace I fake,
the mask I wear,
and maybe then you’ll understand
why I disappear when I should be present.

Please, don’t judge the silence,
because it’s just me,
thinking out loud,
trying to find my way back.

I often feel inadequate —
Like I am constantly yearning but never becoming.
I often wonder if I will ever be enough,
If anything I ever do will ever be enough.

I try so desperately to pretend that I am,
For I find it unbearably humiliating that I am not.
And like lasers carving their path through my skin,
I feel their expectant eyes —
Eyes that burn with silent judgment.

I read the words within their gaze —
A book authored by my own anxiety.
And I find that I must pretend,
Or else the words become snakes beneath my skin —
Silently devouring me from the inside out.

So I pretend. I pretend. I pretend.
And my pretense is mistaken for a beauty it is not —
The beauty of strength,
Of resilience,
Of ambition.

But the critical truth —
The one I guard with my life —
Is far uglier than they could ever imagine.

The truth is: I revel in the misunderstanding.
The truth is: I have no desire to be.
For I cannot define what be means for me.

My wife and I have been apart of The GoodNews clowns for 12 years and we are Christian clowns, yet WE DON’T PUSH our Living God on anybody and we won’t wear face paint.We give out over 20 different balloon animals to kids and ANYONE who wants one. And when we do a event we won’t be late and we will GLADLY STAY until everyone who wants a balloon animal gets one It still seems as though the world we live in the word Clown isn’t mentioned and considered HORRIBLE, growing up there was Ronald McDonald and Bozo the Clown and kids were laughing their heads off.The new generation of clowns are Evil and the Media WON’T PUSH A LAUGHING CLOWN, if they do ANYTHING BAD, they jump All over it,( the clown scare years ago) if they do good, they turn a blind eye and see Nothing.We are BLESSED and THANKFUL for the Amazing events we have and THEY ARE AMAZING, yet we have had some events that WE WERE STUNNED by, One event we were out behind the music sound system and TOLD there was NO OTHER SPOT, to take it or leave it, or one event we were put in a back room away from everyone else and told there’s no other spot for you.Our Many crazy balloons Will ALWAYS BE FREE, and we will pray with you if you ask us to or talk about God, BUT WE WON’T PUSH IT .We live in a Stereotype world, where you hear how a person is and they are judged before you know them.Never judge a book by its cover.Ph413 I can do all things through Christ which strengthen me.

To the world,

You see a man—strong, unshaken, a fortress of resilience. A veteran, a father, a poet, a dreamer. You see the ink I spill, the laughter I share, the mask I wear in the daylight. You see the pieces I choose to show.

But do you see me? Do you really see me?

You call me tough because I have endured. You say I am lucky because I survived. But survival is not the same as living, and endurance is not the same as being whole. I have carried battles within my soul long after the battlefield was left behind. I have fought wars with silence, with memories, with ghosts that refuse to rest. And yet, when I speak of the weight of these unseen scars, the world shifts uncomfortably, as if pain should only exist where the eye can see.

They tell me to move on, as if grief is a door I forgot to close. They say love will come when I stop looking, as if my heart is a wound I refuse to heal. They say men should be strong, as if strength is the absence of suffering, rather than the courage to face it.

I am misunderstood in the way I love too deeply yet hesitate to trust. In the way I long for connection yet fear the sting of betrayal. In the way I wear my past like armor, yet beneath it, my soul is bare. I have stood in the fire and emerged—scarred, yes, but standing. And still, they see only the steel, never the burn marks beneath.

They misunderstand the way I dream. That I can be a warrior and a poet. That I can seek adventure yet crave stability. That I can love without surrendering my identity. They misunderstand that I am not lost, even when my road is winding.

But hear me now, world—I am not just the stories of my past, nor the expectations you place upon me. I am more than the mistakes I have made, the battles I have fought, the pain I have carried. I am the sum of my scars and my healing, my losses and my triumphs. I am not just a man who endures—I am a man who feels, who loves, who dreams, who dares to speak his truth.

And even if you misunderstand me, I will not silence myself to make you comfortable.

With strength and truth,
Kristopher Haeberlin