I would be a great artist
If only i could sit still,
If only i could give myself permission to stop,
To pause long enough to create
Without this rush
Without this never ending, unceasing drive
To be finished already
To be on to the next thing...
This feeling
That im already too late
For action
For life
For love
For now....
Im too late for now!
****
Stuck on this merry go round
Which is neither merry
Nor travelling towards any destination
Except my inevitable death...
I consume my life with things not done
With what I should be doing but am not...
In the minutie of banall tasks
While the joy, light and colour of my life remains unpainted.
Just melancoly ideas
On a canvas strewn with trivialities....
Maybe this is my life?
The sum of these random scrawls which somehow spells the shadow of the word "trauma".
I sit in a pool of my own dissatisfaction
Waiting for... for what?
For better days?
For salvation?
To be rescued?
As i push away those who may help...
Such a strange thing
Existance
Life
Hope....

ADHD forgets to feed the fish
and when she finally remembers,
it is dead at the bottom of the tank.

Well, I suppose dead is an understatement:

a mossy film embalms the body
(at least what is left of it)
its suction-cup maw putrefied
as it suckles the sickle of death.

Half of the body is there.

Half of it has disintegrated.

Imagine existing nowhere and everywhere
all at once; microscopic remnants
defile every particle of water long after
the rest of you has vanished.

I think I’m losing my poetry.
Not in some bleak, calamitous way,
Just – I don’t know how to start anymore.

Is that the problem?
That I’m caught up in my once-upon-a-times
And my dark-and-stormy-nights?
Maybe.

Or. I’m trapped in my metaphors.
Even – I’m tangled in my analogies.
Trying to tap the trees of every experience I’ve ever had and
Bleed them for all their meaning.
Picking up each imperfect seed of memory and desperately
Injecting their cores with GMO/Pesticide/Make this Matter/Juice.

This cyclical little life of mine is whirling too quickly,
My tail is tying knots in my intestines.
I can see the nape of my neck approaching in the distance,
Time taps her toes on my scaled sloping back and tsk-tsks not long now.

I keep on asking her what the countdown is for.
She checks her watch and smiles.

Will I ever not be excited to meet myself?
Will I ever stop expecting a knock at the door, to find myself on the other side, saying
“Hello, it’s so good to finally see you!”

Is there a part of me so removed from the paths I have taken
That is doing everything it can to make its way back to me?
Is she a lover I have forgotten too soon?

Will I no longer await the arrival of someone new
To join me behind the mirror and let me absorb
Enough of her newness to be considered whole?

When do I become
me?

In the back of my stair storage
I have a bin
within my old sins lie
Otherwise I'll forget
as soon as it leaves my eyes
I'm liable

Distracted  
Careless
Unmindful

I have lost so many things
some misplaced
forgotten
stolen, I’m sure
I've lost people
For the same reasons

Its enough to drive me manic
I can’t trace
where the last place
I had it
was
The worst
Is when I don't even know
I've lost it
until the universe
decides to taunt and tease me
with that information

I've lost songs
that hold memories
of my childhood within their lyrics
I've lost movies
Some I've just watched too many times
I've lost feelings
at least all the intensity in them

So,
I've started hoarding

I told myself I'm not losing that nostalgia
So I'm boarding them up in boxes
I'm being present in my past
and these are the paradoxes
In which my unlost will hopefully last

Not to be dramatic
But I love to be dramatic
You're one thing I look for every time
But I couldn't find you if I tried
No crumbs, no remnant
nothing in these boxes
will cause remembrance

One day, I'll be going through
and one day, I won't care to find you

Actually I haven’t
Decided just yet
How I will
Doom myself today

A misty morning; skies clearing

I see the rainbow; endearing

I follow its glow; *** of gold

Adventure and fun; I've been sold

When I close in; I look around

I see once more; stories abound!

From a young age I tried to fit in,
Observing those around me from where i was sitting.
Taking in their smiles, jokes and body language,
Learning this social code which they use to their advantage.
My manual is not the same,written entirely for me but I have not read it properly.
Navigating a world where I copy to survive,
Forver wondering if I sustain this will I learn to thrive?
I have become a result of continuous masking,
In social situations I feel like I am drowning.
Living in a world which does not feel for me,all I can do is write about my isolation in poetry.

telling
Shouting
SCREAMING

my inner dialogue
telling me
just to

shower
Get Up
DO SOMETHING

but i cant
the executive in charge of function said
NO