Most Inspirational

A Girl Embraces Her Neurodiversity

In a world of patterns, she is a kaleidoscope,
Every twist and turn, a special scope.
Her mind dances to a mismatched beat,
In a symphony of colours, oh so sweet.

Her thoughts are scattered yet so bright,
Illuminating the darkest night.
With every single step, she paints her own path,
In a world where norms often are at task.

She has embraced the quirks that make her whole,
And wears her neurodiversity like a crown, bold.
In her world, there’s beauty in every hue,
A celebration of what makes her true.

She’s a masterpiece of her own personal design,
Unravelling the threads of her mind.
With every stride, she breaks the mould,
A beacon of courage, strong and bold.

So let her shine, in her own beautiful way,
For she’s the embodiment of a brighter day.
In her embrace of neurodiversity,
She will always find strength, joy and her true identity.

Most Relatable

A Tight Grip

The noise in the classroom is only getting louder, and it feels like my eardrums are about to burst. I clutch my mini plush bunny, Coco, even tighter in my pocket. As the deafening chatter continues, I clasp my hands over my ears. The clamour reduces to muffles, and I manage to retain deep breaths. I hesitantly remove my hand from my ears. Mrs Gonzalez has managed to reduce the noise level in the classroom. The commotion simmers down as we finally reach the end of the lesson and the bell pierces my ears. An uncomfortable ringing is left in my eardrums, as I briskly pace to my safe space. I open the door to the school’s outdoor grounds, the rejuvenating breeze blowing gently into my face. Gradually, the murmurs fade away, and all I can hear is the rustling of trees as the wind swiftly gusts through their leaves, and the occasional tweets from robins and sparrows as they flutter around above me. I make my way towards the quaint, miniature forest, just a short walk away from the main school. 

The mud, blended with fallen autumn leaves crunch underneath my feet. There’s silence all around me, with everyone probably all lined up in the lunch queue, snaking down the school corridor. A couple paces more into the forest, and I’m there, in my special spot. The aged tree stump, which is a seat to me on many a visit to this place, is nestled in vines which cascade from the trees’ thick branches high above. As I sit down on the tree stump, I take Coco out from my pocket. Her slightly scruffy material gathers around her black button eyes, which stare up at me innocently. I like to think that she’s my friend, that she’ll always listen. That she’ll always be there for me. The tranquil silence is disturbed by rustling and footsteps. I hear a snicker from close by, then somebody hissing, “Shush! She’ll hear us,” and low tones of giggling. I immediately stand up and stuff Coco back into my pocket, trying to hurry as quietly as I can out of the forest. 

My path is immediately blocked by a boy who looks at least two years older than me. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks me, with a leering, ominous grin on his face. I turn to sprint in the opposite direction, when I’m obstructed by a blonde girl, much taller than me. She shoves me back in the boy’s direction, and scoffs. 

“Is this her?” she smirks at the boy and he nods flippantly in response. I scan the area for a quick escape, but their friends are surrounding me. I’m trapped. I grab on to Coco inside my pocket, but the girl standing in front of me grabs me and pulls me towards her. My arm jerks out of my pocket and Coco falls onto the grimy, filthy ground. The girl standing in front of me smirks. She picks Coco up from the ground by the ear and huffs, “You’ve got to be joking. How old are you, three? Anyway, we found what we were looking for. Didn’t think someone could be this pathetic”. My breathing quickens and I look around for some sort of comfort, for anything, anyone. All of a sudden, I hear a snip. The blonde girl glares at me tauntingly, but all I can see is Coco. Without her head. The boy walks over to join his friend, and stomps Coco’s severed head even further into the ground. 

He grins sadistically, “Are you going to cry? What are you going to do?”, and his posse of friends all snigger at me. I barely know what’s happened, but what I do know is that Coco is gone, and the perpetrators are standing here jeering at me. 

And that’s when I see red. 

I look down at my hands and pick at my nails as the counsellor looks at me searchingly. The office is pristine white and pale green, the empty cleanliness almost making me feel sickly. “Your name is Estelle, yes?”. I nod without making eye contact. “Well, Estelle, I’m not here to tell you off, but I do want to know what happened,” she says softly. I glance up to see her warm brown eyes staring back at me with curiosity, and not scorn. 

I quietly begin, “There’s someone in my class that I don’t get along with. The girl was his older sister. She came into the forest and cornered me with all her friends. Then they cut off Coco’s head. And after that, I hit them,” my voice reduces to a whisper at the last part. 

“Coco? Who’s that?” the counsellor inquires, intrigued. 

“My friend,” I say, my voice wobbling, as I take the dirtied remainder of Coco, and hold it out to show her. Tears blur my vision but I briskly wipe them away. 

The counsellor’s face softens, and smiling wistfully, she asks me, “Why is Coco so important to you?”. 

I swallow, and murmur, “Coco is always there with me. When I’m nervous, I can hold her, because she’s always in my pocket. She makes me… she made me feel brave, and like there was always someone in my corner. She was the only one who didn’t make me feel like I was different. And now she’s gone,” I say, lachrymose, with my eyes red from excessive rubbing. 

“Estelle,” the counsellor says in a steady voice, “I’m sure that Coco means a lot to you. I know that she must have helped you be more confident, and help you feel like you aren’t alone. But Coco won’t be here forever. Nothing is forever. You need to find what you found in Coco in you. What you thought that Coco gave you has always been inside you. Someone is always going to be in your corner, even without Coco. Your confidence comes from you, not Coco. And don’t worry about being different. Be thankful for it! There is no one on this planet like you, who thinks like you, who completely understands you. Our brains all work in unique, and amazing ways. You don’t have to hold on so tight. With or without Coco, someone is for you,”. 

I sit in silence, comprehending what was just said. After a short period of silence, the counsellor gets up and smiles, “Now, let’s go and find Coco, shall we?”. After around 15 minutes of rummaging around in the forest, we finally find Coco’s extremely soiled head. The counsellor and I wash her head. I go back to class, leaving Coco in the counsellor’s capable hands. 

A couple of days later, I find a neat parcel on my desk. I open the box to find Coco, restored. I take her out of the package and notice her head is stained a light brown, and there are unmistakable stitches around her neck, but she’s with me and she’s all in one piece. That’s what matters. 

Nowadays, I leave Coco at home. When I’m at school and I feel nervous or scared, I know that I have the confidence inside of me. That my differences are beautiful, and special. I don’t need an object to find boldness or strength. 

I don’t need to have such a tight grip.

Most Informative

People Don't Understand

People don’t understand when I stop
They just look at me, semi-shocked

People don’t understand when I can’t talk
They think it’s simple, like an ambling walk

People don’t understand when I can’t look them
Square on in the eyes, (believe me, I try)

People don’t understand when I do the same thing
Over and over again, they start glaring

People don’t understand when I cry
They don’t have a clue why

The fact is, they treat me more like a riddle
Then a living breathing human being

But that’s alright
They don’t understand that I am what I am

And that I am content with being the person
That people don’t understand

Most Creative

Neurodiversity Poster