Yes, I have problems.
I have ADHD. Depression. Once suicidal, twice suicidal. Lonely. Barely any friends.  Reject. Misfit.
But do you know what I don't have that you have ?
Boundaries. Walls to break down. People holding me back.  Fears.
Do you know what I have that you don't have ?
Esteem.  Confidence. The energy to go on.
You know, kid, you can do better than you are now. You can overcome the people that are preventing you from blossoming into a freakin' superstar.
You can drown them in your voice, in your music, in your words, your creativity.
You can do whatever it takes to get to the top. I don't mean the social ladder, I mean the success ladder.
You can do it.
I did, so you can.

What did I ever do to you?
What was so wrong of me?
Why do you do this to me?
What gives you the right?
Tell me please,
Do you think I asked for this?
Is this some kind of sick joke?
I don't find it very funny,
Tell me please,
Tell me please,
Oh, please tell me,
So what if I have,
PTSD,
Depression,
Autism,
Tourettes,
ADHD,
Dyslexia,
Anxiet­y,
Aspergers,
Addiction?
What’s it to you?
Am I hurting you?

Help I'm lost in this L-U-V
Has me feelin more alive than my ADHD
I can't even tell who
**** my feeling it's too hard to tell witch are true
I just want to be loved
Or liked
To feel more needed
More accomplished like I rode my first bike
Took my first hike
Flew my first kite
Won my first fight...
Please all I ask is to borrow
Your heart I'll protect it
So I can get through this sorrow
I need the cure
Even if it's fake
In my mind it's pure

sometimes
                                                       ­                         my
                                     ­ brain
                       doesn’t
                                                       ­     work

right
                                                ­                               and

                             my

                                              thoughts

     ­                                         scatter

               ­                                                    like
                               beads

                                     spilled
                               on
                                                              ­                 tile

floor

Hello, allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Jocund, The Gardener.
Living lucid, a fellow mind traveler.

That’s kind of like a chill Childe wanderer
Of the flowing forest floor,
Feathered cotton or greening words
On the wind unravel-er;
Gone’a’wandering in untraveled soils,
A seed settler.

Tragedy left my face sneer metered,
Mouth stretched sideways,
Toothy as a dumb grinning jester.

Yearning to make one stupid gesture,
So you’ll see I’m not too interested in being above or lesser.
Just on a mission,
Learning how to be both student and teacher:

Drawing abyssal blueprints,
Joining the disillusioned,
Describing a dynamic curriculum
And coding oaths like Odin’s to bind Cosmic-Woden’s
--Mr. Omnipotent to us rodents—undying reticulum.


Re-programmed to generate runic music
Nomenclature shaped in the underlying resonating
That is every particle operating in unison.

So I'm riding the chronicled-Euclidean space-time continuum
Of balance known to us as equilibrium,
And can you feel me breathing?

It’s the giving and taking and pushing and pulling of gravity propagating,
Bending light under and rending sight of what will be and what has been.

Oh well,
[Where], (when), {how} I am is what matters most to me.

“Jinkies!”
“What is it Velma?!”
“I think that’s Relativity.”

So, speaking relatively
I’d rather deduce from what’s relevant to me,
Lather rinse and reduce the divine to dust in the winds of time,
And maybe see the truth behind {who}, [what], (why) I’m-

[{assburgian]}: high functioning and genius,
Mumbling, s-st-stutterin', tic tic-ing and tremblin’.
it's ****-chilling and tedious.

But wait! There’s more.

{(Bipolar}): slightly manic, and comically dramatic.
Severely depressed and in a silent panic.
Practically sleepless, it’s fairly fantastic.
My memory I mean,
If all my senses witness a scene
The info is sealed within me perfectly,
Perceptually and verbally,
Non-mutational, stability.

In the short term, unfortunately,
My focus is overloaded with scenery
Of bullies, abusers, and over-users.
It’s misery listening to scratched records on repeat,
Immune to wrecking.
For that I thank my ([ADHD)]: predominately inattentive
Wtih dsylixea, definitive alcoholism, drug addiction, and the list goes on.
So yeah, I’m on the spectrum, I’m a functional positron.

“That guy’s *******, He can’t even act right.
He’s emotionless, a mindless robot.
There’s no empathy in that golem.
That ugly alien’ll never be like you or me,
He’s clueless, aloof and downright foolish.
So let’s just forget that freak, he kinda scares us.”

Oh yeah?
Well keep that **** in your ******,
Order the facts and double check’em.

“We're not so different you, me, and them.
We just built a bent border 'round the word disorder.
Sure, that’s the preference, to make no inference.
Ignorance is bliss, right?”

For my defense?
Well golly-gee thanks, that’s all lovely and great.
But now the neurologically typical person
Thinks they can fix me, without knowing my burdens
Like, “you’s gots a d’zeez cuz’a factseens”

This "cray" **** gets me irate.
Diagnoseez wrapped in fear-mongering, seen with hate,
And convinced to wait for a miracle.
Well too bad so sad,
The difference is anatomical.
So treating me means training me
To be “normal, deviations nominal.”

(Am I ******’a dog, what the ****?!
Wait, back it up and mix that bit up.)
“What the ****, am I a ******’ dog?!
Oh, if they knew the truth they’d think I’m a ******* demigod.”
(Ha right, more like a log full buried eternally in'a boggle.)

My parents tried and tried for my birth,
They almost considered me impossible.
I was nearly inconceivable.
Then the multi-verse cursed,
And that message was receivable,
I heard it was a freakin’ miracle.
Not that mom cared, she was irresponsible.
Wanted to be a free mirth queen.

Aww, she just needed security.
Even after my birth on Friday 3/13/92 into a noose,
Loosely scorned and hardly lyrical.
They had to remove me surgically from the womb and
Now I've grown oddly into a super human body.

I’m physically atypical with an extra lumbar vertebra.
Some think me mythical, my hearts cage is even, part of a
Hard skeleton wearin’ *** appeal and a
Strong fresh sheath of flesh that’s quick to heal.
Ask me to speak, out comes a voice so deep you’d think the sky fell.

I’m mentally inexplicable,
Thinking in infinite Voices simultaneously painting imagery indefinitely.  
It has me lagging in a neuronal-conundrum.
I’m containing a brain wound up and
So over-wired it's redundant.

Making my head so heavy the ground is over-tired,
Barely overcoming addiction to dilating mundane details.
And a bit slow to obtain'em,
Those growing verbal-perceptual rains of information.
It's why I'm highly aware of the visual-spatial patterned puzzle pieces of existence.

So my mind is orbiting off in the distance,
Oblivious to non-verbal relation,
Just spaced-out communication.
I'm nearly incompatible
With most people in this global nation.
Everyone's got recipes for lemonade,
And I've got durian, that's **** ironical.
I told you, the difference is anatomical.
Can't be changed, so forget being normal tragically!

“That’s great and all,
But you still can’t communicate,
Associate,
Or surmount your human viewpoint
And recreate.
So what’s the point, you’ll never amount
And you shouldn't be allowed to procreate,
Just **** yourself.”

Shut the **** up, mate!
No one is beyond help,
And I'm in good health.
So who says I need your help.

I’m a catch-it-all trainer,
Long distance sprinter,
Heavy weight lifter,
Martial arts practitioner,
And Muay Thai fighter
Of the metaphysical plane or
Flyin’ my x-wing, taking out tie fighters.
Muckin’ up misinformed storm troopers,
Shovin’ **** back down their word poopers.

Yeah, I’ve tried playin’ The Game
That society designed.
But that sick joke
Was painfully lame.
And the punchline,
All but broke me.


I died philosophically.
Spent three days regenerating.
Re-writing my subconscious poetry
Like The Doct-uh,
The Boo-duh,
Or Mist-uh
Believe-in-me.

Pulverizing words into compost,
Composing metaphor to re-code seeds
Set to regrow self-trees from the ground up.
Splitting myself up into three categories,
(Mind), [body], and {me} all clowned up.

It is a truly significant allegory,
Greening my being with jocundity.
Creating profundity for gardening,
Generalizing and broadening the concept
And applying it metaphorically.

In the attempt
To join fantasy
With reality
And become truly
One with “we”;
Livin' and loven'in
Disparity and hilarity
Of you,
Me,
And every fellow
There is to see.

So, “hello
i am the gardener and
i am jocund and
…|[{(i am)}]|…
quite pleased
to meet
we.”

"I'm depressed," she said, laughing a bit.
You gave her this glare, like "look you lil ****,"
"You know not what you speak, you don't even get
what that means," we live in a world when as long as you
have an excuse, you aren't responsible
and "I'm ADHD" is enough to be able to do
whatever you want, and you aren't held accountable
At what point do feelings become genuine enough
to justify your actions? When is it okay to hurt
others and plead insanity, your morals aren't tough
You're confining yourself, staying in the dirt,
"I can't get higher, the world's stacked the odds,"
is enough to believe you're 'fine just as you are'
When you use, 'I'm okay as a sociopath, why don't you love me'
instead of, 'I can be better, I can get very far,'
Everyone will be held responsible for their actions,
Boys will NOT just be boys, and girls are not all *******
We don't have to break into meaningless factions
Hurting each other, you gave my heart stitches,
you don't have to do that. You can be nice to me.
because in reality, you ARE fine, you ARE free
These limiting conceptions are what's holding you back
It's impossible to believe you can get back on track
You're stuck in this rut and it hurts, it tingles
The rays of this roof is breaking through the shingles
I want you to be happy, I want you to see light
The will of your body is the will of your mind
You can conquer these words, these diagnosis confines,
You can do it. I know. Believe me. You're fine.

its all your fault, its all your fault
its all my fault, its all my fault
it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter
we're both at fault here
but go ahead and blame me, make me the villain
it's because you never learned how to be chillin'
or maybe i just never learned to care
but if that's the case, how come you were never there?

i think in that regard, its not fair
i was there for you through thick and thin
because if i didn't, you'd try to get under my skin
and yet you've never been there for me
quit spamming me on ig

yeah, too busy talking **** about me to our friends
but i've been called every single name under the sun
so good luck if you're tryna have some fun
coulda been friends but you wanted more
wanted me to block you from the waves while i died on the shore

So obsessed with who’s real and who’s fake
In that case maybe you should take a double-take
Only ever hitting me up when you’re lonely
Stop thinking we homies when you don’t even know me
Not even trying to get to know me beyond the surface
Yeah, these conversations to me have no purpose

Yeah got all these little boys tryna hit me up for affection
Don't care about the real me, only the attention
But boys don't get me wrong, just because I'm alone doesn't mean I need your fixation
Alone but not lonely, yet the men I like don't like my complexion
Unfortunate but it's okay, I'm looking for forever
So before that, I gotta get better

Acting like you’re the only one with issues
Well guess what boy, everybody’s got a mountain of tissues
Yeah, everybody’s got their problems
But unlike you, they keep quiet and try to solve em

Yeah I may be a psych major
And you may think that works out in your your favour
but friends ain’t being your personal therapist
I met too many just like you, could make a list
Yeah I ain’t tryna sound heartless but
If you think that, then you don’t know me at all, case shut

“I know you, you wouldn’t do something like that”
Yeah, the real ones don’t need me to obsessively hit em back
They respect my ADHD, yeah it’s a neurological disorder
I was born with it, people like you always tryna change my borders
They didn't even know about it beforehand, yeah they like me for me
Even been there for me when I had to go through therapy

Now you run your mouth around town
Truth be told, you brought my mental health down
When we were together, not now
I’ve been called every name under the sun, running your mouth only makes you look like a clown

Yeah I don’t like being bitter
But truth be told boy, you’re a real vibe killer
I’m always thinking about the big picture
But you always make everything about you, like you’re some famous fixture
Keep that in mind next time you complain about getting bitten
Think about how you made a tiger out of this fluffy kitten

I’m pretty sure there is no more alcohol in this house, I drank it dry, but I got plans to refill the coffers of the estate in a distant land some call the future when I am old, too old to do much but write checks, sign forms, ride on spaceships of my own design, my making, a phsy phi movie, with the masters, with Nash and Sendak, with Moratta and the Spells, with Shug Knight and his dynamite, with Tu Pac the moment that last bullet struck gold ...

The boundaries of who you are, how you act, start slipping away ever so slowly.  At first you just think you are in a better mood, and maybe that’s all you are.

Did I know I was in a manic episode?  How could I not know?  How could I not look for help instead of whatever insanity I let myself travel towards? How how how .... do I sound like an Indian? Does that question offend you?

Just me in the car. It had been just me for days.  Reaching out to social media occasionally to wave my crazy flag.

My stomach felt like water was boiling inside it.  Angry butterflies that would not stop their painful flutter.  The fear, the agitation, anxiety I usually call it, but its more like being perpetually ...

Sometimes I realize that my personality is basically the jail house ***** of perpetual introspection

Self involvement is probably more accurate. Introspection is the dumb self grasping at explanations of evolving memories as they pile up always too fast, always out of reach, always always always then you just ******* die one day.

And that's it isn't it. Whatever else happens that will be my story.

We can never understand what it is because it keeps changing them we all eventually die and that's it.

It's pretty ******* terrifying.


It will make you hide things.

Wishing for a better past is futile
self-torture
a form of the ultimate folly:
feeling sorry for yourself.
It makes you feel pathetic.
Especially if you actually are pathetic.
If your life is a failure of your own making
In cooperation with a mental illness
Which is making me feel so sad and pathetic
I can think of little else but how pathetic I am

But my present seems futile.
There is not much in my reality that is hopeful even when I’m in a better mood.
In short, my life seems hopeless.
I don’t have a job, or a mate, and I’m not likely to find either one any time soon.
I have barely any work experience
I’m 36 years old.  
I live with my parents.
I have a bad case of bipolar disorder and a bad case of ADHD and I know that makes it unlikely I will ever be able to succeed at anything.  Of course one of the illnesses might be right now telling me things are worse than they seem.

I am suicidal but afraid to **** myself.  I wonder if I’ll ever find the desperation or the courage.  As I get older my situation seems worse and worse.  I cant seem to get myself to act to change it.  I can’t ACT.  I can’t DO.  How is this possible?  how am I like this?  How? How? How?

Writing something seems like some kind of action.
Something productive, in theory.
This is what I come up with.
Bad poetry.
Worse than usual.

Just try to write something anything
feel the keys bounce
remember what its like to say something
taste it
let it flow
let it go
what?
what can’t I let go?
what blocks?
just bounce bounce bounce
no one will read this but I need to find that hidden somber knowing inner voice
no matter how fake it is
etch it out
send it out
to the world
let it fly

There has to be something to say hasn’t there?
Write about a manic episode … how to begin? What moment to draw out?

Gotta try not o ******* all day tomorrow
Gotta try
can’t promise anything
this is who I am
I hate myself, of course
how could I not

And on and on and on
Just writing anything
writing “writing”
like Jack Nicholson in The Shining
Jack is a dull boy
Jack is a dull boy
Jack is a dull boy
God help me
but he won’t
of course not
this is a warm fuzzy version of hell
not that bad
except the self-loathing
oh God why me the self-pity
typing typing typing
It would not surprise me
if I never really wrote anything
just a total loser
jerking off all day
not working
living with my parents
watching teenagers **** on the internet
why am I like this?
How can I change myself?
I want to change myself
I really do
God help me
but he won’t
just on and on
nothing gets done
I am nothing
I want to **** myself
but I don’t have the guts
I want to die
I want to die
I say it all the time its mostly about the shame of who I am I can’t stand it it goes on and on

everything bad starts out innocently enough
rock before the roll
this is not writing I can’t write
am I just too ******?
would I write anything sober?
I live my life in a hell not quite of my making
I want to die I want to die I want to die
I want to live I want to live I want to live
type type type
****!!!!!!!
this can’t be my life
I say that over and over to myself
because it is in a way hard to believe
but here it is
at least I’m typing typing typing
simple thoughts like
I don’t like my ******* life
maybe If I could just accept it the pain would dwindle
the loathing would subside
but how can I accept this ****
at least I’m typing typing
too ******
****** dumb
too dumb to think of anything worth writing
just a self hat clusterfuck
of a brain
I want to finally die of shame
mercy please

I thought my problem was focus
I'm overwhelmed
Overworked
Emotionally tired
Mentally drained
I've done nothing but school
For 16 years
My problem is focus
I can't sit still
I can't time manage
My brain isn't working at
"my level of intellegence"
My problem is focus
The doctor says my problem is anxiety
My brain zones out to cope
My brain shuts down to cope
I take naps for hours to cope
Its not ADHD, its anxiety
I can't sit still because I'm anxious
I can't stay focused because I'm anxious
I'm brunt out and anxious
That's my problem

You will never truely know
If the person you are talking to
Is real... or a mask

We live in a time where more and more people are suffering
Depression
Bipolar
ADHD
All kinds of mental illnesses
Masks are needed just to survive
Because like the illness
You get trapped in your head
Screaming for help as you mutter
"Im okay"
                                                                                               "just a cat scratch"
"Sorry, my sharpener is broken"
Fear paralizes those who want to reach out

"They are my friends"
                                                                              "They dont care about you"
"Ive known them my whole life!"
                                                                     "Yet they barley know you at all"

How can you help yourself when you cant even stop those voices?
The doubt and hopelessness whispering in your ear...
How can you be confident asking for help when people just leave?
Mental illness is a disease spreading across the world
No, We may not be able to cure
But we as people owe it to those suffering to recognize their pain
And to stay and help those we can
Everyone deserves a saving grace

so yesterday. they
            told me about
this thing-
                  -ADD. it's
-weird.
-people who have it    are weird
                          they told me
i've got it;
i'm weird.
i don't feel weird
or at least-           i didnt
                             'till yesterday
but i'm the same as i've always been


it's    complicated. i'm not
     hyper
(or stupid or lazylike i've always though i was)
it's called 'inatten
                                 tive' adhd

thetruthisI'mnormal
but i forget stuff
but i can't concentrate
but i can't study
and i zone out
and i daydream
                             and it all sounds so normal.

but i wish
   it were a matter of
                        willpower
             and getting organised
and getting my ****
                                  together
like my parents tell me to.

wish i could convince them
    it's not some alien religion
i'm not stupid or lazy or- "what the hell is
adhd. that's
                                just an excuse
getyourshit                                              together."

yeah, alright. i know.
i try.

It is easy to talk about motivation
Nowadays almost everyone does it
In fact, being a motivational speaker
Has become a quite lucrative profession
However, actually motivating yourself
Is easier said than done
You may think I am being negative
Be my guest
I would rather be a pessimist
And thus risk being called a negative person
Than take a step
Into the pool of toxic positivity
Which is so deep
That even the Pacific Ocean
Can't hold a candle to it
Every time you raise an issue
It is brushed aside
With a mere flick of the wrist
As though it were a pesky fly
Buzzing around the dinner table
Whatever you're going through
Means nothing, absolutely nothing
To these motivation experts
Who keep gaslighting you at will
Until you forget that you even exist
These people brainwash the public
To believe that no one really has a problem
And that all problems are self-created
However, the reality is vastly different
Everyone has a problem
Or rather, a condition
Autism, ADHD, Down's Syndrome
Bipolar Disorder, OCD, PTSD
Selective Mutism, Paranoia, Depression
And I can go on and on
Of course, it varies by degree
From mild to severe
And from person to person
Nevertheless, a condition is a condition
And has to be acknowledged by everyone
Including these so-called motivation experts
Mental Health is indeed a serious issue
Especially in our country
And it is a real shame
That it has taken the suicide of a celebrity
For people to understand its significance
Of course, not everyone may suffer to that extent
So as to take such extreme steps
Instead, someone may lose his job
Another may be dumped by her boyfriend
Nevertheless, a suffering is a suffering
Even if the society doesn't consider it serious enough
As my therapist would say
When your brain chemicals function differently
As compared to those of the people around you
Motivating yourself is easier said than done
Especially in a country like India
Where the support system
For people suffering from mental health issues
Is still a work in progress

I'm alone and I'm feeling stuck I feel the weight of an elephant sitting on my chest and  the pressure is unbearable. I'm in a different place but I feel like I see the same faces. I feel like somebody is after me and wants to **** me but I feel like that person lives inside of me. My stomach hurts because the pressure is building so I let out a yell from the very bottom of it. I can feel a hot rush to my eyeballs as my brain decompresses. I can feel the pressure agai Yelling is the only thing that helps. Still, I grab the first thing that I see and I throw it, it just happened to be a backpack through a windshield with a laptop in it. I want to hurt everyone who's ever hurt me and then I realize it was me hurting myself this whole time so I inflict another wound upon myself.



How did I wake up in prison again today when in last nights dream I got so far away. I love running away in my dreams because though I know I should be tired I never run out of breath so I'm able to cover quite a bit of ground when I run away from this place in my dreams. I also like to  breathe underwater. Right before I went to prison I was still flying freely in my dreams I could literally run and jump and fly from place to place but after three years in, I can't seem to get off of the ground. I'm wondering if it's some subconscious thing going on.



The guards yells "stand by for chow!" With elongated syllables and his voice travels down the run with purpose. This old prison has the classic looking Steele prison bars you see in cartoons and movies growing up, it's actually quite eerie. I throw my sheet over my bed and tuck the blanket into the edges so it sits tightly around the mattress and fits snugly in the 6 foot steel soap container type mattress frame that is attached to the wall in a way that you can for this frame up and ******* to make your 6' x 9' space a little bit bigger . I only do this after I put my books in a stack at the end of it because they were spread out with no organization like sub group of war refugees. I turn off the TV, click the desk lamp,  press stop on my tape player, but I let the fan still run. I fold up the drawing I was working on into my dictionary of symbols along with a couple of the poems that were simultaneously being worked on - it's like I have to work on 10 different things at a time to keep my mind occupied. I'm stuck in the cell 23-24 hours a day with ADHD and I was the type of kid to wonder the city for 16 hours on my bike.  I like it because I feel like I'm getting good at 10 different things at once and though I know i it's pretty much impossible to focus on more than one thing at a time I set aside small focuses for each thing in bits and pieces and then go to the next thing, it's quite refreshing to be honest.



I throw some water on my face brush my teeth and I comb my hair back  after I put on a fresh T-shirt, some new pants and my new shoes . Even though I'm wearing all orange I want to look the best I can because it makes me feel good. On the walk to the chow hall we have to go down the stairs and central unit in Florence, Arizona. We all squeeze shoulder to shoulder on the tight run of cells and have to walk Down five flights of stairs and everybody is in a rush but still acting like there just walking casual it's pretty funny to see people do casual speed walks. Everybody's cracking jokes and excited because   Tonight we get pizza and we only get it a couple times every six weeks for they have the menu on a six week schedule. It might taste a little bit cardboardy but who cares it's been years since we've actually had a real slice.  And if you bring some salsa with a little bit of your own cheese you can actually fix the pizza up to where it's quite delectable.  



We pass through the old metal doors and you could fill the air blow from above where the door fan is. As I walk into the chow hall, I can feel tension among the other inmates - it feels like when the lowest frequency on a sound scale with a bass comes in really deep at the bottom of your stomach and a high pitch of the top of your ear that is out of tune and doesn't sit well. You can always tell when something is about to happen because everybody gets quiet and you can feel it in your stomach it's almost like the same feeling of fear and anxiety because the guy who's going to get gotten never knows it's him. I give the guard my last name and I get in line to get my pizza. The food trays come out of the hole in the wall  pretty fast -  inmates that work inside of the kitchen have this down to a science and their muscle memory and pattern recognition is that of an expert sous chef.   Pizza corn jello and a cup for the potent artificially sweetened juice they give us. I'm going to sit down in the middle tables because they have the tables sectioned off for people of different color the white boys sit with them white boys the black people sit with the black people usually closest to the door. The paisas (Mexican national)  sit with each other, the Chiefs have their own tables among  the Mexican Americans. I never sit closest to the wall because if you sit at the back table closest to the wall that means you're striving to have prison political ties and that is something that never interested me because though I am doing five years that is still a temporary stay and I did not want to join a prison gang. But when you're on the higher yards like central unit everybody is pretty much down for the cause so sometimes I will sit back there with homies. Once seated I grab my squeeze cheese from my right pocket, bite a  small piece of the corner off the packet and and squeeze it onto my pizza. I  also apply  some hot sauce and I get o have my friends pizza because he owed me from last nights 49ers game with a bet he lost. This story was probably believable up until the point I said the 49ers won.



while all this is happening in the back of my mind I know something is about to pop off because I could feel it in my stomach. once you know you're good then you're good as far as not being the one about to get stabbed or stomped on but there is always a lingering thought in the back of my head like I hope it's not me that they're about to get. I know it wasn't going to be a prison riot because we all would have known we all would've been prepared with knives ready.



I started eating. Yup cardboardy. Now a little bit faster because my gut told me something was about to pop off and about 3/4 through my second piece of pizza I heard it.



Attacks are usually really quiet in prison usually you hear the stomping of feet, grunting and groaning or slamming against walls so you can feel the wall shake. unless the person that is getting attacked by anywhere from 1 to 4 people starts screaming for his life and begging the guards for help.



This particular attack started with hoofbeats feet on the ground and punches landing and struggling breathing heavy and grunting. You never really want to look directly at what's going down because you don't want to draw attention to the situation or yourself if the guards aren't  paying attention. Attacks like this committed in the middle of a chow hall typically indicate that the person being attacked has to go and is no longer allowed to stay in the general population with us.



I'm Going to say which particular race or who was attacking who because specifics can get a little bit sticky if you are journaling your experience I would hate to offend any particular race or be considered a snitch. three men were stopping another man and it happened really quick. I didn't realize that they had knocked him unconscious and he was breathing really heavy and snoring as if he were dreaming of a beautiful place and had a stuffy nose at the same time.



In what seems like is forever or at least a really long time only just a few seconds have gone by before you hear the guards rushing in. four now eight now twelve guards with fire extinguisher sizes Mace cans, Spraying the men on the face both attackers and victim.



It's crazy because when you're in a room and they use those mace canisters on one person in the whole entire room gets clouded with Mace or Pepper spray  and everybody goes down on the ground and  starts clinching their throats and gasping for breath. some men cannot bear it,  though they typically don't die it seems like they're right on the edge of their last ****** breath.



I just felt bad for the person who didn't get their pizza in time because they're  going to be hungry while we're  all locked down until  the situation re-centers itself. then again the other part of me was a bit jealous because I'm sure the Mace served as a hot sauce and they got to enjoy a little bit of that.  



As I lay dying, I put my face in the ground in my arms and take the smallest breaths possible because it feels like I can survive these breaths and when you breathe deep it stings so bad that you can't help but to gasp for air and cough and perpetuate the struggle.



  I drift off to the beach... Here I am with my feet in the sand at the ocean. I hear seagulls flying above overhead and their calls are panning from left to right like the cleanest headphones you've ever heard. I can hear the waves crashing in and I can feel the sea breeze on my face.  it's one of those days when it's not too hot out but you feel good in the sun with the cool wind on your skin just enough to add A balance. Kind a like a sweet and salty sensation. I love this.



I'm really thankful because last time they maced the whole group it was inside of our living space and we had to sit there for 2 hours and cough but it was only the first 45 minutes or so that felt unbearable. The first time I got maced or actually experienced mace in a really bad way it was when they maced my neighbor inside of the shower because he didn't want to get out of the shower and I thought I could be tough and not feel the effects that much and I was eating crackers while I could smell the mace entering my nostrils. A few seconds later I was on the ground holding my throat because I felt like I was going to die and I couldn't even swallow the crackers I was gasping for air and hating God for this pains existence.



Now again we rise  up on our feet moving back to the run  where our cells are located and I can tell that a lot of the people who have been in prison for a long time who are not in the political movement Are really upset by this because they just want to do the rest of their life inside of these bars at peace.

the attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
poem
is a strange animal

with lines
monosyllabically
short
and then
perilously   freakishly    faulknerically
long
but not to worry

the trick is to ***** around
with the readers' heads a bit
let them wonder
   what's going on
get them used to
   obnoxious departures
   sudden jolts
      of expression
   devious detours into
     obscenity, indecency

these are the
tourette's moments
of a poet's creative life:
a move to keep those with the
attention span of an infant gnat
awake  alive  responsive

some may expect poetry
to take them down
safe  bland  routes:
         a snowfall enhanced by red robins
         perched on a rustic fence

         a lake with canoeing lovers cooing
         in a shimmering moment
          
         heartfelt elegies
         quaint quatrains
         hip haikus

but can these images
really keep you entranced?

well, can they?

it isn't like i didn't warn you
or the horse you rode in on

what if i never make it
what if forever squirrel chasing
adhd society incompatibility
smothers me worse than disbelief
'o he's just lazy'
when really am crying
head buried deep in pillow
the **** of yr jokes
ol spacecase duke

screaming cursing hitting self
cutting arms
scars of failure
failing falling
fulfillment

never good enough
fall behind others
sooner give up
jump

Aware
Of all the things around
Distracted
By a sound
And they look down
Curiosity gives them a frown

There's something wrong with you
If you notice everything
You're too right
For this wrong world

So take some Adderall
While your small
And watch your world fall

Meditation
Is far greater
Than medication

I don't like it when poems are long
When poems are long and keep going
on and on

I don't like it when poems are long
because my brain begins to think of a song
and then a hippopotamus twirling and whirling around

When poems keep going on and on
my mind cannot stand another stanza
and then the lion pops into my head

The lion that tells me this is gonna be long
that this poem is as vast as the sea
and nor you or I will be able to flee

I don't like it when poems are long
unless of course they are written into a song
will hippopotamuses dancing

Unless that poem is intriguing
with life and color and passion
with feeling and being and desire

excuse me?
But I do not like it when poems are long
unless they are good and they are strong

I walked into a high school,
with one friend,
the only friend I made in elementary school,
who stayed my friend.

My mommy Doesn't like her,

I walked into a high school,
and my only friends older sister,
who felt like my sister too,
Passed away,

the school didn't care that we all cried,

I walked into a high school,
and I tried to make other friends,
and a kid got ******,
and he stole my phone,

the police did nothing to him like the school and he later ***** a girl,

I walked into a high school,
going into a program with high hopes,
only for them to get shattered by those who didn't wanna deal with me,
because people didn't get things related to ADHD,

and I wanted to drop out,

I walked into high school,
and skipped the class,
after the one where the teacher and students all harrassed,
me,

because when I reported it, it was their word against mine,

I walked into high school,
and I talked to the teacher who would harass me,
and tried to make him understand me,
understand how I can't do things like everyone else can,

and he made me head banana masher and then I puked,

I walked into high school,
and Skipped that class for the first time ever,
because the teacher made me *****,
be he was absent that day,

and I got in trouble for skipping and "lying about the incidence"

I walked into high school,
and skipped my classes,
and cried in the bathroom,
and cut myself,

because I couldn't handle my panic attacks,

I walked into high school,
trying so hard to make some sort of friends,
and they yelled at me every time I ******* smiled,
because they didn't want to allow me to be happy,

The school wouldn't let me have friends,

I walked into high school,
and tried to hangout with people after school,
and they just yelled at me,
made up lie about where I was supposed to be,

They tried to get more mom mad at me,

I walked into high school,
oblivious to what love,
***,
or abuse was,

and the boy I was seeing ***** me,

I walked into high school,
on the final day of freshman year,
to take my final so i could get the **** out of there,
and they harassed me the entire exam period.

they said things of confidentiality,

I walked into high school,
and everyday I left in tear,
with a scarred body,
and nothing but fear,

and they expect me to wanna come back the following year?

I can't be what I want to be
Cause to fail is easier
Then to fail to succeed
My generation is a new breed
Ready for a revaluation
But tripping over our own two feet
PTSD, ADD, ADHD
VHS , DVD,  MP3
I'm sick of these mental anomalies
Drug dealers with doctorates
Pushing band aids
For a brain aneurism
That may not even occurred yet
But your diagnosis
Is their proctosis
To line their pockets
With decaying presidents
So they don't feel a need
To take that SSRI
that to you they so desperately feed
Welcome to America
Home of the crave
And land of the greed
Hope you have enough stolen
Souls in your pocket
So that you may succeed

He's only 11 and he says he's psychotic.
He says that nobody likes him, but he's okay with that.
He probably plays in his yard alone,
doesn't have anyone to talk to on the phone.
I see cuts on his wrist, visible proof of the risk.
He uses his ADHD as an excuse, one can observe he's hiding the abuse.
He's excluded from everything, he wants to die
but he needs to spread his wings and fly!
Instead he takes the other's opinions to heart,
tearing his body slowly apart...

Head hurts cause i dont know whats real,
Gotta sit down and take my ADHD pills,
Feels like lighting hit my brain,
Shocking wazes through my veins,
Only got my depression to blame,
Was a kid alone basiclly lame,
Makes me feel immortal,
Travling through portals,
Thinking of the past,
So much but not a laugh

Maybe it was my ADHD or my Bipolar or both, but as a child I would put in my headphones and just pretend I’m living… this is what I did for fun, I would put my headphones on over my ears and wear a beanie to keep them from falling off.  I would put on something with sickk drums and a kick *** guitar, grab my skateboard and push wood.  Synchronized with the music of course, this was more convincing to me that I was not in my life, but that I was in this fictional reality.  This reality didn’t even need to be better, it just needed to be not my life; but it always was, better that is.  If I didn’t have my skateboard I would interpret the song and either skip to it, walk rhythmically to it, or rock out somewhere; it depended on the song really.  This was my first drug and I could not understand why nobody else wanted to live the way I was living… the only thing I wished different is for the music to play out loud and not only in my head as this tended to make me feel self-conscious or awkward in the supermarket or at public places in general.  
I needed spectacular lenses nearing my middle school days due to my incessantly close music video watching.  I needed to feel as if I were there with them so I would sit right in front of the TV set.  I even went as far as to grow my hair out and part it evenly to both sides so as to black out my peripheral vision.  I consumed music and art that went along with it as if I were a ******.  I truly believed the singers in the videos were where I wanted to be, they understood me, their words taught me the truth, their music lifted my spirits, their presence kept me company, kept me sane.  They taught me everything my parents should have.  They were my angels, my saviors.  They taught me about freedom and expression.  I began writing, singing, acting, dancing, philosophizing, creating art, creating art through life.  
Life became a music video, and I became the voice, my emotions the music, my brain the lyrics, my character a poet, personifying sacrifice.  I couldn’t understand why everyone else was so BORING! Why they didn’t see me there skipping down the street and run to catch up with me and say, “hey, what are you doing?” … or something along those lines. I didn’t understand why I was alone still in this new world.  
Nowadays I find myself in front of a computer screen, playing guitar stationary.  Waiting.  Working.  Waiting... and Working… And I will be there one day… I will join them all… I will be there with them GOD ******* ******.  I just need to get to that stage.   I will break through that ******* SCREEN and I will be that guy in the ******* TV that will make that little kid somewhere jealous of him and the world he is living in.  AND I WILL ******* INSPIRE.  UNTIL ONE DAY ONE LUCKY GENERATION WILL GET TO LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE YOU CAN GO OUTSIDE AND EXPRESS YOURSELF TO THE MUSIC YOU ARE LISTENING TO AND NOT BE CALLED CRAZY AND NOT BE JUDGED AND NOT BE RIDICULED AND CASTED OUT OF SOCIETY.  AND NOT THIS, AND NOT THAT, AND NOT THIS BUT WORSE, AND NOT THAT BUT TRAGIC.  I WILL ******* BREAK THROUGH THAT ******* SCREEN YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT AND I WILL KEEP THOSE LOST CHILDREN COMPANY AND I WILL MAKE THEM FEEL LOVED AND I WILL MAKE THEM FEEL ALIVE AND I WILL SAVE THEM FROM WANTING TO ******* DO IT SO ******* BADLY BECAUSE NO ONE WAS EVER THERE, BECAUSE NO ONE GAVE A ****, BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE ENOUGH ANYTHING… but I can’t put food in their stomachs and I can’t keep them warm.. BUT ******* IT THEY WILL NOT FEEL NEGLECTED.

we live in a world where money means more than your life,
you have to work hard to support your kids and your wife,
nobody cares that while your child was in labor,
your wife died and your kid came out as her equal,

we live in a word where grades mean more than your life,
you need to get straight A´s in a system where they won´t help you advance,
you suffer from depression, ADHD and some more,
you are not a brat or just bored,
but they don´t care that last night you slit your own wrists with a blade,
come back to school today - you need to improve this grade.

we live in a world where looks mean more than your life,
you have to be attractive to get anything in life,
they don´t care if you are anorexic, bulimic or if you have social anxiety,
all they care about is that your scars can only be portrayed in your personal diary,

we live in a world where were locked in a cage and told what to do,
they tell us who we are, how to act, and what to do,
they do not care about our personal struggles,
they could care less if you were on the very brink of committing suicide,
as long as you don´t disturb their plan its fine,
you will be forgotten, if they struggle with it you will be called selfish, for hitting rock bottom - with your face first.
because they don´t get, they can´t imagine that your struggles was way worse than theirs, a lack of compassion splits us from the rest,
don´t expect no help when you scream in distress.

I hate myself. I hate my mind. I hate my body. I hate the way I speak. I hate my emotions. I hate my physical feelings. I hate my life. I hate my writing. I hate my thoughts. I hate the disjointed voices. I hate the way I walk. I hate the way I move. I hate the wayi eat, if I do at all. I hate the things I read. I hate the taste of my own blood. I hate my cheeks. I hate my teeth. I hate my torn up fingers. I hate my scars. I hate my bruises. I hate my hair. I hate my eyes. I hate my smile. I hate my lips. I hate my nose. I hate my diseases. I hate my depression. I hate my suicide. I hate my ADHD. I hate my anxiety. I hate my rumored schizophrenia. I hate my memories. I hate that people like me. I hate that people love me. I hate that people hate me. I hate being alone, but I hate being social. I hate the things I draw. I hate the things I talk about. I hate the treatment I go to. I hate how I try to help. I hate the things I learn. I hate my pain. I hate my blindness. I hate my voice. I hate my hearing. I hate the bracelet that pinches me. I hate the nise it makes. I hate the way the metal smells. I hate the bile in my throat when I feel guilty or scared. I hate the way I bite the inside of my mouth to bake myself bleed. I hate when I scratch and don't remember. I hate the way I shake when I cry. I hate being comforted. I hate when people talk to me. I hate wanting to go on even though I can't. I hate wanting to end this. End it all.