We take this moment
To offer
A heartfelt prayer,
For the many odes
Seeded in the
Mind-womb of poets
Worldwide,
Which never made it
To birth

Aborted
Along the way
For equally
Good and bad reasons

© 2017

"hello," i said to my reflection
but she didn't say anything back.

Meshed into the cosmic fodder.
Torn and strewn; universal lard.
Maybe this is dying...
Oh hi, Moirai!

This pendulating plane,
circumambulating
understanding.

An existential game,
I didn't know how to play.

Went back for round two,
Just to test the subjectivity.
At first I was astounded
By the sheer volume of mystery.

You crushed, you pulled,
You played me for a fool.
All the while, mocking me
Like some bully at school.

Oh hi, Moirai!
No need to hide or disguise.
My eyes are open wide, now.
I'll no longer try to slide out.

Ever since I stepped into this
Buffer between the gross and divine.
Nothing has been the same (lol).
I walk the middle line.

His notion for all this
Commotional,
Sappy, emotional
Dribble and spit,
Bargain-quality ****
Is just catharsis, a
Comical, slightly
Sardonic carnival
Of what it is to be
A man alone, loosely
Wearing his bones with
His heart on his sleeve,
Which is ripped and hanging
From a stick, declaring
His foolish little wish
On which he clings,
Desperately.

It may be fate's cold dish,
Either way, he's sinking

I don't want to write. I'm not in the mood.
But I have to do it. It's a thing I do.
So, sorry y'all. You'll have to bear with me.
I can't even get drunk right now. Oh the misery.
If you want to skip the *******,
Click down to the ******* squiggley.
I write when the overwhelming reality
Of post-happiness and emptiness surrounds me,
Drowns me in the grip of the undertow
Issuing from all those things I knew
And wouldn't let go of. So they grew
To be stones immovable, the blue
Churning to make room for their slow
Descent into the unknown.
All this is, is my effort to make a bubble.
Whether to signal for help or help myself,
I don't know. I guess whichever is less trouble.
The lovable, down-on-his-luck, real distant
Misfit who knows exactly how to fit in.
I suppose that's me, if you choose to believe
This is me that I'm being. I won't be
Fooled so easily. For indeed I am the fool,
The fool who used his hands
To take food from other lands
And ran on his two feet
After kicking something sleeping.
Something sleeping selflessly.
Something sleeping just for me.
Hell I had to wake it up,
I'm not worth a price so steep.
Everyone should have their chance.
I ****** mine up, so **** me.
~
I told you all to bear with me.
If you've stuck around, that's nice to see.
I don't care either way, the point this is making
Is no point at all. I just need to write.
It's like pressure being taken off a really filled balloon.
It's like somehow quieting down a goin-ape-**** baboon.
Take one is always great, until you record over it with take two.
My lines aren't always great, but you'll snort em up anywho.
I know, I'm all over the place. But these words, they stick like glue.
Maybe that's why I need to write. Maybe that's why I hate it, too.
They never seem to come out right. These words hardly fit any shoe.
Yet, I need something, somewhere to start.
Bleeding heart poet? I'll play the part.
Evolve like a **** to a shart, and become
A mean-spirited thing. A bled heart sum.
A regular in the slums
Breathing trash-burn oxygen.
Looking up at the sun
Wondering where my moxy went.
Burdening my pen,
Which shifts it to the page;
Estranged from the tangle
Now, this unaimed auto-ramble.

I suppose everything should have an end
If only to leave openings to begin again.
But knowing me, I'll probably nail my shin
And fall to the ground, oo-ing and ahh-ing when
It's time for me to get off the stage.
Just take a look at my life, any page.
You'll probably wonder how I've survived on such a wage.
Well, I'm thrifty, *******. I'm insane.
I'm like a perfectly fine cat, but with mange.
You won't touch me, but my own kind will still play.
And if you do, my disease spreads like a plague
And consumes you until there's nothing left but disdain.
Please try to pet me so I can run away.
I want all the attention, without any of the danger.
I know you've fed me....like, every single day.
But that doesn't change that we are both predators.
And that hand that feeds will meet catastrophe
If it happens to wander too close to me.
Cliche time: it's not you. It's me.

So I write and while I'm writing
I find the signs of my demise
Comforting in light of my shortcomings
Falling in place along these lines

All my life I wanted you,
Desperate for the life of you,
Holding to the dream of you,
Dear daughter.

All these days I'm loving you,
Desperate to help all of you,
Hoping that the life of you,
Discovers, dear daughter

All the dreams you dare to dream,
Dream those dreams with all your hope.
Hope and find that life that's yours,
Dear daughter.

I can’t listen.
My mind is a prison.
Tears fall down my cheek.

My confidence weak.
No appetite to eat.
Thoughts race and prevent me from sleep.

Bags under my eyes.
Whats that in the sky?
They tell me its just a phase.

ADD isn’t real.
Why is this such a big deal?
Little do they know it ruins my days.

Can’t focus in class.
Teachers think its a load of crap.
No one understands that this isn’t okay.

I try so hard.
I studied all night!
But I always seem to fail.

Look at my medication.
Look up the facts.
When will they realize ADHD is real.

Reality and daydreams.
Which one is real?
Which is more important;
The lesson in class, or the color of my nails?

My confidence; frail
My complexion; pale
My mind?
A jail.

But I put on a smile.
Make life seem worthwhile.
Because once in a while I can finish a task.

But pretending i’m fine.
Missing homework deadlines.
It’s like i’m hiding myself with a mask.

Don’t get me wrong.
Some people have it worse.
At least I have a roof over my head.

Although i’ve cried.
I’ve never considered suicide.
But others wish to be dead.

So treat me with respect.
Break the stigma.
And educate yourself.

ADHD is real.
It’s an unfair deal.
So you can choose to understand mental health.

I don’t have enough focus to listen.
And thats what your missing.
This is not a choice, this is something I dread.

So next time you judge me.
Next time you label me.
Remember, some with ADHD wish to be dead.

I'm running
from the mirrors
of my brain

I want to be a writer
I want to be a novelist
I want to be a writer

running
running
running

my brain is the roadrunner
it catches up to me
and strangles me in daydreams

til' I die

My depression tells me I'm not wanted
My ADHD tells me to go find someone who will want me because sitting here won't change anything
My anxiety tells me to hide from anyone who might want to talk to me
While my bi polar argues about if it's worth talking to anyone or not
My psychosis tells me that everyone I could need is in my mind
While showing me things I don't want to see
How do you find your point in life
When your head keeps telling you otherwise?

I wonder if God writes poetry
and if the poetry of God is us.
A human being as a poem
some a longer than others
some with deeper meanings
some are fun and some are sad.
And if I was a poem by God
what poem would I be?
Probably a simple haiku
with a pinch of ADHD