i’ve been feeling the draw
to compose my own stories
worlds
universes
but that’s the extent to which
this emotion/inspiration has taken me
just the desire
not the inspiration
not the story
not the need
just
the vibe
[but i think i need a little more than
a vibe
to convince this maybehd brain
to actually
do it]
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???]
cool
cool
make me feel worse
about myself
about my quirks/my faults/my worst
habits and have them describe my whole self
awesome
perfect
exactly what i wanted from my one close family member
left
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.
just let me write,
brain,
send the right brain in to do its job
leave me left alone, left brain,
except for executive functioning i need
to continue on my path to please
what little remains of the dopamine
in my internal system
so i can be a writer
so i can write as i want to write
i can do it,
i can write it,
right?
the consequences of adhd
[or even maybehd]
are incredibly frustrating
because
i have no one to blame
but me,
and i want
so desperately
to blame somebody
[because it never works out the way i dream,
but sometimes it does get better than it initially seemed…]
it’s all a wild ride and a complete surprise
with maybe-ad-hd
avoiding
what i have to do
by doing
so many things i
should have been
doing
ages ago
eons ago
sweeping the floor
and putting the dishes away
and organizing whole clothing drawers
and nursing plants back to life
and applying for things
and
why does this happen?
why does the looming deadline of one things
encourage all the other
executives to start functioning?
but
but
but
how come i can’t do
literally
anything
without a deadline?
could i please
either
need deadlines to get started on something
or
use looming deadlines to get other things going?
why must i fight against both
in order to do things
i actually
want
to do
???
i feel sixteen again
the air around me tastes louder
brighter
coloring with so much
i can’t help but squint
perhaps it’s the neural pathways
refusing to trim
perhaps it’s the music
and late late nights inspiring
deep connection again
how can i remember
remembering
but can no longer remember
the actual thing?
~~~
it hurts my soul
to see our puppy so
sad and distressed
standing still in a cage
but it’s for her own good
and i wish
i wish
i could
explain to her in words
she’d comprehend:
‘just a few more days
and after, take it easy
and then, hopefully,
no more
puppy
prison’
~~~
how do people
craft poetry
instead of just letting
their guts fly free
internal thought process
and emotionality
all nakedly out
for any perusing
reading
eye to see?
kipventures 