Flipping through a bundle
of identical sheets
I realise there is no difference between us

I, like the sheets
Hover the earth with no specific goal
Waiting for someone to scribble
an endorsement

But no-one comes
Because I am the paper and the ink
My experiences are my art
freely given materials

With which to bless,  beautify and build

On to the next
Before I have finished the first
Forgetting who?
Forgetting me?
A hunger or thirst
To finish third, second or first
A race against time
With the zone of my mind
Like ironing shirts
And each crease gets worse
Finding time for each urge
Defining what hurts.

Asking, how should I think?
Hurting who?
Hurting me?
A marathon and sprint
If I am only racing myself, how would I win?
A superpower and curse
You can never comes first
Though, you can never come last
Only move from your past
Tie your laces so fast
That the shadow you cast
Is the only version you craft
Casting who?
Crafting me?
In all that I see,
It will not alienate me
Finding my path
With ADHD.

Maybe me calling my problem a problem is the problem.

These knotted guts
eject my pulsating heart,
while I wait for my welfare
to imminently crumble–
I’m lunging from my vessel.

I frantically survey for danger,
but the culprits remain covert–
I turn up empty on my basis.

But failing to subside, I wonder…
do the wires of my diagnosis
wrap me in incessant neurosis?
Or has conditioning to trauma
trained my brain to fear?

Regardless I remain engulfed
by this looming devastation,
and my neck constantly aches
from looking over my shoulder.