Hello!
I have A.D.D
Attention deficit disorder, or so I'm told.

What does that actually mean, you ask?
Well...
I am a genuine, 110% dopamine
addict

Yeah.
No.

I will end jobs, relationships, and conversations
When I get bored-I dont even mean too!
I don't mean to be cruel,
Trust me. I'm not autistic or psychotic,
I just get bored

a lot.

That means
A.) I have a lot of difficulty regulating my emotions.
And trust me, I'm more sorry about drop-kicking my laptop in the middle of a meltdown.
More than you'll ever be.

B.) But, I may not look very A.D.D.
I likely won't suddenly shout
I might get anxious in crowds of people
I may stop mid-sentence to stare at lights
I'll forget just about all the important things.
I'm sorry.

C.) I have a tendency to sometimes regulate your behaviours.
No, it's not OCD
And does my heart beat feel a little fast to you?

D.) I absolutely, positively
Hate
Living like this.
I should understand social cues
I should know that 1+1 equals 2.

I know I should know that.
But my brain disagrees
So trust me,
Sometimes I just want to die.

E.) I seem to hate doing everything,
The dishes
The trash
The laundry
F.) I forgot to take my medications again,
I should have set an alarm but
I forgot.

G.) Please. Just
Go away.
Everything is so loud
Everyone keeps touching me
Everything is happening at once inside my brain.

H.) I will often need your help.
You're normal
You understand why they said one thing but did another and meant something complete different.
Am I having a heart attack???

I.) I am struggling
Struggling to understand why you are so angry
When I swear I told you
I had plans today.
Why aren't you happy I remembered I had plans?

J.) I'd ask jesus christ for help,
But didn't he make me this way on purpose?

K.) I think these medications might be killing me.
Did you hear about the 10 year old
That keeled over from an adderall-heart attack.

L.) Let me spell it out for you,
But one second
I just realise I could hang Christmas lights off of
Our front-door wreath.
Let me live, please. I can't breathe and my lungs are crying from the vyvanse.

M.) Maybe theres more to it
Maybe I'm just a horrible person
That can't seem to find the perfect relationship.
My o my, I think I'll just lose a few pounds. Maybe I just don't need to eat today

N.) No. I don't know what you're talking about
I saw a crow fly by the window
Then I noticed the little display in the garden
Maybe it runs off of batteries?
I think I needed to buy batteries today
No. I wouldn't possibly understand anyways.
I'm too dumb and out of breath.

O.) Oh! Did you know
****** only had one *******?
Did you know about global warming?
Did you know
My hair is falling out from my medicine?

P.) Please!
I got this in the bag.
I just need to look deeper into this question.
Then I'll have my answer
Please, body. Keep up. I just want to be normal.

Did you know
I had anger issues
At first?

Hit me.

Did you know
Your actions would
Resonate so violently
With me?

I dare you.

When you were
Playing me like a
Shoddy verbal fiddle

Did you know I'd
Fight back?

I'd absolutely love it.

Did you realise
That I wouldn't simply
Roll over?

Your words are nothing
compared to the hits I've taken

Guess what,
I'm not your
Punching bag

Did you really think I'd submit?

Take a swing at me
Just once more
Just one more time.

I've got a whole lot of issues, bud
But, fighting back was never
One of them.

I've had black eyes
and broken bones

I'll knock you out,
Without a second thought.

I won't even blink
When your nose
Sprays blood
All over my clothes.

Did you think I'd give in?

I've seen worse than the likes of you.

The monsters in my brain
have said worse things

After all, how else would I have
These Anger Issues?

He called me his bestfriend
My heart stopped for a second
As I pondered the possibility that he may mean it.

But then
He said it again
And again.
He'd run away with me
His best friend
He'd do it for me

Let me be clear,
By the time we first lost a being made of us,
We were basically married,
Or rather bonded as a pair.

It wasn't exactly my overall preference,
But that didn't matter then.

Then I was simply sad,
No.
I was hollow as a puppet,
Moving about to please my crowed into indifference.

You were never indifferent,
Which I appreciated
Yet somehow,
Despite me quite literally handling what could of been,
It was all about you,
It still is sometimes.

I tend not to want to detract from that selfish process,
But some days I find myself in need of reminding you
Reminding you that you are indeed Male
And it was never your body's fault
Solely mine, my own-despite your dramatics.

Leave it to a Male ego to make my issue all about
HIM.
Like he had to wash himself of every bit of waste,
Like every bit didn't remind him how much his body
Simply
Failed to do as it was built to

As if he was in the bathroom with me.
He wouldn't dream of it.
Weak stomach and all that nonsense,
Yet he got a scotfree ticket to wallowing where I could Not.

Lucky, lucky man.

Just leave the gore to ****** Luanne here,
She won't leave, why?
Because she can't.

I've realised
That the life I've lived
Isn't incredibly conventional
In the traditional sense of the word.

It could alienate me
Elevate me upon a pedestal

But I've also realised
That we're not so different.

I also enjoy ****** shows
And puppies yawning
And pets getting belly rubs.

We're not that different, I promise.
I know our experiences are.

But, I'm still at the age
Where my bills sometimes go unpaid
And I choose to surround myself with Netflix
Rather than do the laundry.

I have
Very rarely
Heard anything
Kind, sweet, or beautiful.

No.
Just dirt.

I have ***** eyes.
They are the colour of earth.
Hot chocolate, or a doe-if you're stretching.

My eyes are dirt.
Poets struggle with them.
They focus on a smile
Or skin
Or soft fingers.

They try to hide the impurity
Of brown eyes
Despite the fact that my eyes
Are the most common colour of all.

I suppose that isn't unique enough.
Dirt, after all, isn't special
Not even for it's life giving
Breaking
Qualities.

I have ***** eyes.
They're simply not special enough
To be cherished.

I don't hate the way
He cuddles up to me
When he's asleep.

I don't even mind
When he wakes me up
From the slumber I so rarely get
To tell me some fantastical ramble
Within his own sleepy brain.

They never make any sense anyways.
But he let's me drag him into
Confusing conversations.

I'm so confused in my own skin
So I love my time alone.
Of course.

But I don't hate him within it

He brings me an odd
Odd sort of smile underneath
The doom and gloom in my core

I love my time alone.
It gives me time to think.
But do you know what's funny?

I don't hate him in it.

He's comforting.
He's confusing.

And I know he can't be
Responsible for my health
No one can.

But his presence
Makes me feel
Happily warm
And safe
In my own skin.

There are some lessons
In life
That you shouldn't have to learn.

But trust is now something
That people must earn.

Because I've slowly learned
I'm not tempted by pretty blue eyes
That give me flowers

Please don't give me flowers,
I hate watching
The life leave with each watering.

I hate that I have to watch
Pretty things as they wilt away.

How terrifying it is
To fear you will be destroyed
By a single man

So terrifying
In fact
You destroy yourself.                
First.

I once heard that stupid song played
In a car
On repeat

I've grown to hate it.

Of course, I can live without you.
No. It's not lonely up here
It's brimming over with life

Without you.
You meant nothing.
I gave you a chance.

You tried to hurt me.
Your mistake.

You did not fix me.
How can you fix a piece of jade
Crevaced with gold?

You can't.
My cracks and imperfections
Make me all the more valuable.

I used you.
You did not use me,
You utter hypermasculine fool.

Her words were
Most definitely
Never meant for the
Likes of you.

He says
I am loved
That he would move heaven and hell for me
If I asked.

And I reply
with a smile and a thank you.

I love you too
and I'm so-so sorry
sorry that you chose me.

When I give him a
Hollow smile in return
He sees right through it.

Chiding me carefully
Softly.
With warm cups of tea
And soft kisses to my forehead.

He knows.

but I wish
I wish he didn't have to know

He says
I am strong
That we can weather
That he can do it with me
Through My storm

Together.

And when
He says that
I believe him.





I just don't
Know if I could survive
Letting him go
Even for his own good.

He's so
Hesitant.

When he attempts
To genuinely scold
Me.

He always appears
With his Xbox headphones on
And a kiss to my cheek
Or my forehead

Before he tries to
Quietly
Chide me
With his mic silenced.

It's like he's attempting
To demonstrate that
He means no harm.
Only care and concern.

Perhaps it's due to
The temper I've built
Over years of abuse.

(Heaven's know I could slash one's mortality with it.)

Or perhaps it's due to
My skittish behaviour

(Which I  know appears to be inaccurate.)

But he comprehends
(Unfortunately.)
That I have an incredible flight-or-fight
Instinct

And a towering man over me
Within my bed

It automatically ignites
My fight

And I will fight to the death

If I must.







It's not like I haven't died before.
I won't hesitate to die again.

Babe, it's a long way down
To the bottom of the barrel
But if you want to steal my shoes
Try to walk a mile in them.

It's okay.
I know you couldn't.
Too soft.
I'll fix that.

Hold my hand.
I'll take you down.
It's a long way down
But, I know it half as well as you want to
Pretend you do.

I tried to have a talk.
I was too hostile.
To listen too.

I tried to text.
I was, I guess.
I was just too much
To hear.

I had too many reasons
To many actions unnoticed
To be worthwhile.

He offers an olive branch
Of physical comfort
And I am too upset
To take it.

I want to torch it.
I want to throw it's ashes

I want to kick
it's too much ashes
Back in his face.

Inhale that,
See thru it
Then come chat about ***
You ****

If he's reserved himself
Blind to my pain
Then so be it.

I did try.
Ash won't hurt
As much as I have
For these weeks.

I cried to my mother,
I don't want to be blonde anymore.


He liked blondes.
I couldn't change my dating past,
But I could make myself less interesting.
Right?

But she said
You can't change on the outside. Only underneath.
It was supposed to be better that way.

Teachers wouldn't see.
I wouldn't have to answer
Annoyingly personal questions.

So I did the opposite of light,
I dyed the under layers of my hair,
Black.
Then after a month,
Blue.

Just like me back then.

She was right.
They didn't ask because they couldn't see.
Didn't want to see.

It didn't work.
He wouldn't leave me alone.

So I thought,
I'll fight.
Red for blood, red for intimidation, red for fire trucks.
I'll be Red.

I decided to dye my hair red,
And chop it off to my shoulders.

My mother was right,
But it did not work.
Instead I embraced the Red.
I fought.
It took me 6 years to end it, and yet
I am still fighting the memory 5 years later.

But now,
People only notice when I braid my hair.
They ask if I had my hair done, I say no.

Only when I braid my hair,
Do I show the colours.