Poem: "The Mind of Someone With ADD"

It's 4am on a Saturday morning.

I'm rudely spurned from sleep by dehydration,

and after quenching my thirst,

I am forced awake,

because... that's what happens.

I drink water, and I wake up.

I'm 21 floors up in the air

and I am lost in thought about

digging my heels in a

concrete jungle

with unfavorable weather.

I don't dream much.

Sleep to me is the equivalent

of willingly being knocked

unconscious for hours

only to wake up

gambling to feel okay afterward.

I think I must be dying.

A pain, sharp as a jolt, travels

like lightning in my nerves

and life, what I knew to be a marathon

has a finish line that I'm seeing

just way, way too early to be okay with.

But I get gentler reminders too.

A dull ache forces me to be aware of my finitude

and every anxious moment

feels like a speeding car

exhilarating, yet

dangerous.

I am definitely alive.

I remember the ghost whose hands

moved my hair over my ears

at the first gasp of smoke.

The detachment I felt from others

having my first migraine.

The high of running five miles in record time.

And bittersweet betrayal

I called, yet still didn't see coming.

Where was I?

It's 5am in a midtown apartment.

The air is colder and the windows

aren't so open to fatal mistakes.

But I know now how it feels

to have clouds at your feet,

comfortable and surreal.

Something about it makes me wonder

if I'd ever let myself be as angry

knowing I could have something good

at a moment's notice.