Spectrum Sold Separately
He arranges his soldiers in flawless procession,
Each figure aligned to an ancient obsession,
Seeking safety in symmetry, peace in the grid,
A world understood by the way it is hid.They study his hands, remark on the act,
Murmur “unique,” then posture intact,
Snap a picture for social proof,
Then erase the tantrum from under the roof.She rocks in the corner,
soft humming a shield,
A universe wrapped where no secrets are healed.Her brilliance is shared,
but the breaks are ignored,
Her ritual quieted, her honesty floored.
Glossy awareness on shirts and banners,
Terms repeated with well-trained manners.Applause for the genius,
silence for pain,
Gifts are paraded, meltdowns remain.The badge of inclusion, sold at the door,
But patience runs out on the waxed classroom floor.Gaze fixed on progress,
pride in a file,
While the actual child waits in exile.Labels recited, compassion performed,
Inclusion rehearsed, real comfort reformed.
The prize for the spectrum is boxed and discreet,
Tokens of care, kept tidy and neat.Light is admired, the burn is denied,
They post the soft glow, never the tide.Awareness is public,
support is withdrawn,
When routine breaks, the advocates are gone.A meltdown is filtered,
a struggle reframed,
The truth gets diluted, the child gets blamed.
“He’s brave,” spoken over a muted scream,
The volume turned down on every dream.Statistics quoted, discomfort ignored,
Everything staged, all jaggedness stored.This is not love but a labeled show,
The heart of the matter left in shadow.
The inclusion they preach comes with rules and consent,
Roughness removed, no sharpness unbent.Edgeless, branded, safe for review,
Everything sanded, nothing is true.No surprise allowed, no wildness to share,
Every difference wrapped in cultivated care.
This is not wanted, just the frame,
Neat, compliant, without a name.Stars are applauded, the sky locked tight,
Ribbons are worn, then tossed out of sight.Spectrum sold, spectrum used,
Token paraded, heart refused.This isn’t progress,
just recast loss—A comfort built for those not tossed.
The part that’s praised lets the speaker boast,But never the ache
that haunts the host.The poem remains
when the flag is gone—A record of lives never fully drawn.The child
beneath all the branded lightWaits for a world that gets it right.