I could tell you of my longings, but first you need details.

Asperger's Syndrome is within me, a disorder from which I ail.

I loathe it not, take my word, though water I do bail.

My mind is like a sailing boat, whipped by wind and hail. 

Walking to my classes, I hear them once again;

The students, they are mocking, and I crawl within my skin.

Is it my walk?

The stutter when I talk?

Is it my hair?

The clothes of which I wear?

Is it the way that I think?

Maybe I just stink.

Among these things I grow paranoid, and start to feel alone.

I shake with chills that are freezing me, from my skin to my bone.

So given now the details this tale does send,

The conclusion below does end:

The moral is imperative, but I mean it not to boast.

There's but one thing I want, and I want it more than most.

One moment of peace and quiet, silent as a ghost.