The Art of APD

by listen2up

An acquaintance is sharing poems written by her 17-year-old daughter who is in the process of getting her suspected auditory processing disorder confirmed. Here are two:

Partially There

“I’m sorry”, she says,
Can you repeat that again?
It’s not that I didn’t hear you,
It’s not that I was unfocused,
It’s not that I don’t care,
I’m just always partially there.
The expression on your face,
Tells me you’re not okay.
I want to help you,
Comfort you,
But you’re too far away.
Your voice trails off,
Mumbling the sounds,
A tear, whimper, pout,
But I don’t know what about.
In a crowd amongst those my age,
Talking, chattering, laughing.
Voices disappear into sounds,
Surrounded in confusion.
Amongst a crowd; I’m alone.
Each word like a puzzle piece,
And I don’t know the whole picture.
Trying to piece together sounds,
Only to be left assuming.
I can’t say that I’m deaf,
I can’t say that I’m normal,
But if you are my friend,
Then I’ll explain it to you again.
I have APD,
It’s permanently part of me.
I find it hard to listen,
And words are often missing,
I’m always just partially there,
But I honestly try to hear.

By: Amy Feltham

You tell me a story
But all I hear is a sentence
You tell me how you feel
But all I see is an expression
You tell me where to go
But all I see is a pointing finger
You tell me a secret
But it’s already forgotten
You tell me what to do
But all I hear is confusion
I’m not one for gossip
I don’t like the rumours
I’m not one for playing instruments
The music only runs through me
I’m not one for socializing
Although I like to see you smile
I’m not one for jokes
But I’ll laugh with you
I’m not one to listen
But at least I tried

By: Amy Feltham

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