I wrote poetry prolifically as a teen. I'd be brushing my teeth and poems would get stuck on the toothpaste, trying to get past my lips.
But I became totally separate from my artwork for almost 3 decades.
In 2012 I had a 50 minute seizure that wouldn't stop, so I was placed in a coma with hopes that I'd be able to survive.
I died while in the coma. Science thinks it alone saved me. Science really doesn't have as much of a clue as it thinks it does.
Last year I came upon some information which has completely uprooted my life in a way that since waking up from death, makes no sense to me. The more I try and make sense of it, the more confused I become.
In the midst of this destruction my creativity has reappeared. Poems once again fall out of me without trying, my hands draw spirals with as many colours as I can find, and most important of all - I'm finding the very cogs that make this machine known as Patricia, run.
I'm Autistic and synaesthesia is along for the ride. Life is full on for me. I can't always express myself in the ways that most people need, but I can express myself this way. I can add my own language to this world, I can find my place among the noise and silence.
This poem talks about how I don't believe in coincidence. My life and experiences have been far to extraordinary to explain it away, so simply.
It's an intrinsically marvellous co inside dance!