i'm not going to sweet talk into a deep metaphor that punches you in the gut with my last line. i could tell you about how a baby raccoon covers it's eyes when it's scared, and how every time you didn't answer the phone i covered my eyes. i could ramble on about the theory of evolution and how people say it's not real. i believe in it because apparently i evolved into something you didn't want anymore. but that's boring. why don't you tell me how the sun gradually sets? or what would happen if all technological communication was severed? or tell me what you do when you hear someone play a wrong note? please tell me how you slowly lost interest in me and finally cut it all off and acted like i made the mistake. oh dear, i did exactly what i said i wouldn't do at the beginning. sound familiar?

a.h.d.

you know how you drive by creepy abandoned buildings really slow just for the thrill? you think "woah that's creepy. someone was probably murdered there or it's haunted." but you never really know unless you go inside. just about everyone would hesitate going into a creepy abandoned building, but wouldn't blink twice about going into a giant fresh estate. imagine going into the abandoned building to find it newly furnished and spankin' clean. then imagine going into the fresh estate and finding holes in the floor and everything covered in an inch of dust. i am the latter. i look nice on the outside and seem to have a lot going on. but without hesitating, take a step through the front door. hear it creak? be careful. you'll get tangled in the cobwebs, and your coat will get hooked on the loose nails. i'm sorry; i don't want you to leave. if you really want to, explore the whole house and maybe even stay the night. but if you want to leave in the morning, that's alright. it's dark and smells musty from the hollow memories scattered on the living room floor. i filled the cracks in the ceiling with peoples' failed attempts at loving me. i'm sorry it's so dark and cold here. i used all my matches trying to keep the last person from leaving. i've swept the floor countless times but i can't brush off what he said. i get bored because i've read every book on the shelf and they all end the same: exactly how they wanted it. i know they're fiction because this is not how i wanted it to end. why don't i just leave, you ask? well, i don't have a key. but there's no lock on the door. that's why you can get out, but i can't. so maybe it's not the building that's abandoned, maybe it's me.

a.h.d.

i tried to put you on my wall with the rest of me. i tried so hard. but you wouldn't stick. you kept falling off and i would put a new piece of tape on and shove you back on my wall. but you wouldn't stick.

i tried to put myself on your wall. i tried so hard. but i didn't stick. i kept putting tape on me and running into the wall. but i didn't stick.

either you don't keep yourself on your wall, or we're not meant to be.

again,
i don't really know.
its just that,
sunsets have brighter colours now,
and its easier to get up in the morning.
blankets are softer,
and water tastes better.
music has more rhythm,
and the wind doesn't ******* over anymore.

please don't stop being you.

a.h.d.

i killed myself.
my old self.
sometimes she likes to sneak back into the cracks in my bones,
but she's never there for long.
she knows she is not welcome there.

i killed myself.
my old self.
then i bloomed like a dandelion,
fierce and ready to conquer all.
sometimes people like to pluck me
because i'm a ****.
but weeds can be flowers too if you get to know them.

m.a.l.

he was navy blue
                                 and heavy rocks
        
            he laughed the way you nervously scuff your feet
he was October
                                                    and raisins

                    he walked the way a bird picks at worms
        he looked like a well traveled gravel road

he was rust
       he was silver

a.h.d.