Another night of longing
Do I suck the air out of the room?
..
Cynic
When there are, potentially, wealthy men
on the table next to you
Me, for the quiet table
and they get all the attention
You dress me with misogyny’s lies
and, see only,
my lack of status
My imperfections
When I chat, casually, to work people
and I tell them, what is deemed, too much
Topics that are not dinner conversation
because for me not getting to the root
of the root
is small talk
and what’s the point in avoiding the .. buts?
I don’t do life for personal enjoyment
(I’ll get there)
BUT, there is crisis.
BUT, we dance, while the world is on fire
Lets sit and fan the flames
The beautiful souls who care too much
and the ones who live life
On an enjoyment barometer
The ones that I wish for
The ones with personal desire
Purpose is managing years of avoidance
Lets talk about avoiding and, in doing this, Lets, talk about the crux..
The crux of the matter
My life’s not about the everyday
My thoughts land on the soul searching
Lets over-egg the pudding
A life of fake, and of the rush
Weeds weaving through me
Spelling out ‘too much’
There is no general
There is living in the trenches
A life not lived
and I sound so obsessed
Here I am, heavy with too much pain
Elaborate to life’s everyday-ers
I over-stayed
Apologise to them internally
Me, of intensity,
Never feeling like the rest
Ashamed that my attention-seeking
and justifying myself
Sits with me,
I bring it up, they want to leave
Tied with
There’s no space for play
because their something more
Captures my interest
The personal dialogue
Weeds and rushes
Wading through swamp water, tasting it
sweetly, in my head
I suck myself into the vortex
My intrigue’s peaked -
They disagree
How can we talk about trips to France?
When turmoil is all that violates my brain
I’m at school
There’s intensity
I feel sadness on their language
When there’s only love and
hope for equality
I’m too much
My soul curls up
I move inwards
on account of my rage
Napping and I drool
Sparks ignite, only, with intense conversation
That shuts them down
My gunk heavy
Of swamp water that drenches their clothes
They need to dry their hair out
I sinned, with hungry water creatures
Stuck, frozen, while the gator roams
My limbs won’t work
and I hate myself for feeling stuck
I’m in the classroom - little me
Afraid
At home
Alone-tears, too much
that I try to show
I talk to the wrong audience
and realise, there is no right one
Only therapy
You, who look at my speech on why ADHD diagnoses matter
You take two, or forty, steps back
Talked full on, in spaces for, the everyday
I, casually, see intensity
I hope to make a difference
The space is waterlogged
I’m wading
and it marks out my lack
The world is in turmoil
My brain leads me into,
and through, another crisis
in minutes, hours, days
Whilst there’s a whole reality
I engage in
and talk trauma with a laugh
and knowing smile
The fear in their eyes and knowledge of
my inappropriate, drags me
Twisting plants wrapping
and tying me up
Reeds of my shame
and, this, audio disaster
Your whispers
and you change the subject
My interpretation
You want this to stop
My loudness
Loud like my brain
I’m priceless
for the sailors
But we’re on land
and they pro-military
and order
Don’t speak of the canoe with holes
Overturning
Everything has dual-meanings
Shame over water spitting
at this surface-level
Are you too much, too?
Water weighing-heavy
My years
A minuscule moments
What if my stories had mattered?
Me and you
The waiter comes over
I’m friendly and leave a tip
It occurs to me
that I was valid too
but, I barely got a greeting
On account of not being male
and rich
A child
I re-play my drownings
of tomorrows and yesterdays
I wait for a life jacket
and consider me unacceptable
Get drawn into not sitting back
On academic rafts
of unworthy
Fonts of knowledge
I’m always incorrect
and my game’s observed as fussy
and ‘unnecessary’
I shut up
Your first thought is ‘at last’
My past, your glasses of wine
My empty every days, fighting to thrive
I’m selfish
and I’m kind
The bad heart
That gives too much
and resents the universe for it
Where are my, bits of much?
I only know one way to be real
and engage
Can almost touch
Green, murky waters
Chained up bolder on the
river beds
Labelled as self-love
..
And there’s a clawing, gnawing
feeling of longing
because no one can ever really
care about me
and I want to apologise to everyone
I’ve ever met, for my longing
and for my avoidance of the truth
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