numbers are either big or small
935 is a big number
considering if you have 935 elephants in your bedroom
but 935 is a small number
considering if there's 935 fish in the sea
and there are far less pencils in your backpack
than 935
and far more mosquitoes in Alberta
than 935
but 935 is an enormous number
counting the miles between me and you
and 935 is a minuscule number
when measuring how much my heart aches when you're gone
and when asked how it feels to miss you
i will always reply with
"like 935 tons weighing on my heart"
'cause if i had the chance,
i would love you 935 times over
and i would choose you
in 935 other lives
and in a crowd of 935 people
i would only look for you
and i would cry 935 tears each night
just for you to love me back

numbers are either big or small
and 935 is neither

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.

my bones start to tick
my nerves scratch at my skin
spiders crawl up my throat
my lungs surrender to the invading fear
my breath fades like an echo
tight string laces my brain

"just relax"
is what they tell me  

"just relax"
won't stop a hurricane
"just relax"
won't stop an angry army

so why would it stop me?

a.h.d.

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.

i don't really know.
it's just that,
you plant a garden in my heart
and grow tulips.
you write a children's book in my mind
and read it to me until i fall asleep.
you are the windows rolled down
and new music.
you are fresh linen
and clean hair.

i must describe you so ordinarily
so the earth won't feel so bad about itself.
but it should feel honored
to hold something as special as you.

a.h.d.

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 hope you creak when i'm within your walls.
i hope when you think of me it feels like cold wind on your face.
i hope when you drop something you stare at your empty hands longer than usual.
i hope the radio plays our songs and they get stuck in your head.
i hope someone tells you about me and you have to focus on breathing.
i hope you wake up sweating with an aching awareness that i'm the one you need.
i hope you sprint back to me.
and i hope i won't be there.

a.h.d.

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.

they say you only dream of things your brain knows,
but i dream of holding your hand
and running my fingers through your hair.
i wake up startled
and struggle to breathe.

never mind.
i dont dream.
i only have nightmares.

a.h.d.

there's an optical phenomenon
in places where palm trees grow.
God himself takes his pallet of paint
and mixes.
as the yellow sun descends into it's resting place,
the blue ocean engulfs the burning ball.
and for a split second,
there is a green flash.
people stare intensely for minutes
to witness 1-2 seconds.
blink,
and you'll miss it.
some never see it,
some don't even believe it exists.

i like to think that when we met
God took his paintbrush and made the most beautiful colour.
your brilliant soul mixed with my dismal aura.
for that fragment in time,
there was a flash.

maybe you didn't see it.

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.

if you have ever met that boy downtown,
then you know that love is a fleeting thing
and only lasts long enough
to make your heart jump a few meters.

a.h.d. & t.d.m.

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.