feeling disenchanted
with words
my drive to churn out
poetry
or prose
has been quelled by the concept of
more interpretative media
music?
painting?
cake decorating?
what will my next endeavor be?
[and will i still come back to poetry
every morning]
[i mean, i haven’t stopped in literal years,
so probably]
just writing
quick morning words
and then back to working
on the thing i should have started
a month ago
but alas
the maybeHD
and procrastinatory tendencies
make it so
in this week
before the event
this is when my creativity
actually explodes
working through what works best
for my distractable brain/
my undiagnosed, but probably ADHD brain/
my MaybeHD brain
finding new discoveries and tricks and impacts and randomness all the time
and it’s slowly feeling like
less and less of a lie when i
introduce myself and my needs as simply
“undiagnosed ADHD”
sweaters and sweatshirts
we forget about for
nearly a solid year
and then
once the actual day of christmas
is over
we find all our festive apparel
so we don it
in this liminal time
between christmas hype
and new year’s hangover
and try to continue into january
but it always feels
odd
and forced
and then, it’ll get lost in the backs of
closets
and cupboards
and dressers
once again
[how are we so predictable?]
an impulse to search zillow
for houses in
la
an impulse to change my whole wardrobe
and start the whole journey
today
an impulse to create a new craft
try a new recipe
just do something that is
100% new to me
but i know
me
and i know
the event
more likely —
a start
with no middle
and definitely no finishing up
the curse and constant battle
of the adhd brain
on life
is my time blindness
not in the day
but within years?
now that’s what i call
maybeHD
everything last minute
every moment panic
but this is how i was trained
in the trench warfare of
gifted-kid-with-undiagnosed-adhd
late nineties
i often brag/complain/comment on the fact
that my pain tolerance is high
and my discomfort tolerance
is low
what i mean by this is
generally
*generally*
i can see pain as a temporary thing —
my constant toe issues when i walk
always dissipate with each step
[even if i know it will come back
with the beginning of the next one,
at least while that foot is in the air
it’s gone] —
or cramps/headaches/muscle pains
i can tell they’ll fade
in a day
or after some good sleep
or even with some sort of pain medication —
pain is more an assessment of what my body needs
than anything that will put me
out
but
but
but discomfort never seems to have an end-point
[unless i force it,
and sometimes i do
purely from an “i can’t deal with this anymore” standpoint]
so —
tags tickling the back of my neck
NEED to be ripped out of all my shirts/
socks falling inside my shoes
NEED to be pulled up
or exchanged for better ones/
backpack straps feeling uneven
NEED to be adjusted
and bras that fold up on themselves
and pop back at random times
NEED to be pushed to the back of my drawer
and never worn again
[though the matching bra
received at the same time
that squeezes my ribs to pain
i’m far more willing to deal with
throughout a day]/
someone’s breath on my neck while trying to spoon me
NEEDS to become the little spoon
and my own ribs popping out/back into place
ever so slightly
NEEDS to be brought up to my doctor
far before any pain worries arise in an encounter/
it’s really just the fan above me
that started out as discomfort
[of air blowing on my skin]
that i’ve learned to deal with —
but it still bothers me more
on days with less sleep/
high stress/
i’m still looking forward to the moment when
the weather outside switches and
we won’t need the fan on
again till next summer
i hope i’ve expressed
this phenomenon
accurately enough
to let folks know
why
the fuck
i’m like this.
there are things on the to-do list
but when i get the time to do them
i find myself in desperate need of rest —
either to fully pass out
on the couch
asleep as soon as
my eyes close
or
the brain rest of a video game,
and the body rest of heat pack therapy,
and the emotional rest of sitting next to a cat or a puppy —
and i completely forget everything on my
multitudes of lists
[is this just the
maybehd way???]
my head is all over the place
which can make for interesting poetry
when i cannot follow one subject all the way through
but fifteen different thoughts have already sped through
my racing brain
but the sleep is also tugging
and i have no way of judging
which direction to go
or how much to write
or let go
or just let it be
as it is
in this mess that it is in
~~~
if i actually followed the stream of consciousness/
the different trains that blast off from
the one station of *my brain*
i still don’t think i’d have words for most thoughts —
‘high speed’ ‘ugh, typing’ ‘that beat’ ‘coffee’ ‘food’ ‘puppies’
none of those words tell a story
in the way i’d want my poetry to express —
how i called it a stream, but i feel like my thoughts are trains
holding all the context for each word within each car
but they blast off like high-speed rail, something i’d love to have in this
fucking country, and sometimes i’m on the train itself, but sometimes i’m left at the station
waiting for all the thoughts to come back to me, eventually
[hopefully whole, with some new passengers/context aboard]
~~~
i feel like the more i write
the worse my poetry ends up
and i don’t know what to do
or how to think
about that.
kipventures 