Sarah Stup, a young poet and author from Frederick, Maryland lives with autism. Through the organizations ARC and RISE (groups serving people with disabilities), Sarah is establishing herself as a professional whose writing advocates understanding and acceptance for all people with challenges. John Hess '04 has created a photo essay documenting Sarah's working process and her life. Visual Communication Design students Libby Sanders '07 and Matthew Starchak '06 have illustrated her children's books. This exhibition is organized by Kevin Walla '06, who is working with Sarah to establish her business and craft.

Are your eyes listening? That's what needs to happen to hear my writing voice. Because of autism, the thief of politeness and friendship, I have no sounding voice. By typing words I can play with my life and stretch from my world to yours. I become a real person when my words try to reach out to you without my weird body scaring you away. Then I am alive.

With writing I reach out to try, and autism or hate or walls of doubt can't hold me. I am pleased to be typing away--typing away loneliness, typing away silence, using paper to hug you and slap you and join you. Click, click, clicking keys are my heartbeat.

Listen with your eyes.

I use hope for a springboard to leap from places that attract laziness and powerlessness to a height for futures never imagined for a person like me.

Writing is my way out of a lonely place where only God knows. I feel alive to type. The lid opens and out come pieces of Sarah, a girl with wings who soars above the place with no hope called autism. I am real when I write. Autism is my prison, but typing is the air of freedom and peace.

EAT MY SOUNDS

Whisper to me—
     I will listen.
Ask, ask, ask—
     I see you struggling.
Teach me a way—
      I find new power.
Discover my hidden voice—
     I am alive.
Arm me with sound—
     I am a baby.
Wish to help me?

I eat my sounds with utensils acting like
     Knives cutting away
          at proof that I am a stupid girl,
     Forks piercing an idea
          that I am not a real person,
     Spoons that dip out
          words and sounds I can't stop.

Sound is not who I am—
     It is who you are.
I am a silent voice.
I choose to be not your echo.
You find me lots typing.
To type is my real voice.
Tune in!
Read my words—
     They sound like Sarah, a real person.

VOICES FROM ANOTHER WORLD

A voice speaks bits of loneliness
     but no one hears.
A voice tries to speak aloud
     but only noises without meaning
          arise from lonely hearted souls.
A noise with sounds of loathing trouble inside
     called"autism"
          pierces your frightened ears.
Tads of reality come through
     when acts of wisdom do come together
          and the voice communicates—
Rare times you never forget!
You know I am inside
But people with puzzles and cards and yellow notebooks
     can't find me.
They try to give information about people
     who live in a different world—
A world of lonely wishes and unspoken fears
     and hopeless confusion.
Treat us with love, not fear.
We are God's children!
God, alone, can hear the voices of autism.
He, alone, is proud of our terrible screams
     that pierce your old ideas
          about who is not educated.
We understand you and ourselves.
You understand only the world called "normal."
Listen in a new way!

BUDS

We walked together one dreary fall day,
Our dinner ended just as the trees' foliage has ended.
The youngest suddenly pointed out buds.
Buds of hope and promise for an unseen future—
Buds sprouting on long, dark barren branches.

Buds that will face winter gales and ice.
Buds that must wait.
Buds that look fragile.
Little sprouts that seem to serve as God's contract with us
     to deliver spring.
Buds that must wait.
Promises in waiting.

We plan another meeting and part till then.

HEAL ME

Wanting asks!
Time races ahead
     with no answer.
The shy request asks again
Days quickly pass
     with no reply.
Whispered prayers are offered
Nights whisk by
     without response.
Screams seek attention
Hopeless winds flow on,
     ignoring.

Answers quote not a time of healing;
Being free is promised.
Time is a heavy gift.
Wanting waits!

RUDE ACTIONS / SAD FACES

A world that acts toward you, but you can't act in return. Autists like me can't tell their bodies what to do. Autism says do weird actions when we really want our bodies to do regular person actions. A treatment will not stop the weird actions, so give up. We need to do those things to protect us from seeing and hearing too much.

Autism hopes to please people, but it acts rude and people hate rudeness. When they see rude actions, they are frightened and sad. When autists see sad faces, we are alone in a world of nothing you wish to know. Sad faces shut doors of love and friendship. Sad faces are endings. Sad faces are red stop signs on paths that could have crossed. Rudeness is not our intent. No sad faces please.

SILENT EXCHANGE

With a pew seat to share
   and God as our friend,
We said, "Peace be with you."
You said it aloud
   and I was silent.
Could you be a friend to a girl
   with no voice?
To find me was not easy.
Even so, I hoped you would find a way
   to talk with me.
You typed and I was not silent
   but noisy with asking things.
Good answers came
   and great stories
      of brother and bird,
         of church and college,
            of autism and forgiveness.
With a pew seat to share
   and God as our friend,
      we said lots.
We shared.

MY GRANDMOTHER STUP

Poses with arms out to hug us
     and a smile to light us.
Acts festive and jovial
     to entertain us.
Prays to God
     with hymns of family voices.
Retreats with nature trips
     to be with us.
Delights in talking and reading and gaming.
Pleases me to be with her.
To ask peace for her
     and keep singing hymns to remember her
          is my action.

Some day we will all be communicating spirits and I won't be a spirit alone.