Stream of Attention Deficiency

A particular kind of pressure

is put on you

When your friend talks about their friend

That they lost to a drunk driver

They’d always planned to introduce you to their friend

or perhaps set you guys up

on a blind date

It is tragic and unfortunate and foreign

To mourn the loss

of a love that could have been

But you will truly never know

how that could have gone

You feel lost and confused

You want to be a comfort

but what can you say

Nothing

You think back to that evening

On the school bus

in the dusk light

When all of your teammates were changing

Your eyes drifted nervously

to your male coach

perched at the front of the bus

Your friend

a senior at the time

Breaks your reverie

“don’t worry, sweetie,

you’re not his type”

Indicating that it was okay

to change in front of him

But perhaps

if you were someone different

He might take

A particular interest

in you

that you could not fulfill

Your mother once asked you a question

and you did not know how it made you feel

Were you appalled?

Perhaps

Confused?

Certainly

She proposed a scenario

All too familiar to you

Best friends of two different genders

but they were both gay

And you said

yes

sure

okay

Then she said that

they were in love with each other

and what would be the result

if

perhaps

they had sex changes for one another

You said that could not work

because then

they would not be happy with themselves

even if they were happy to fulfill a role for the other

Being the perpetual draw to gay men

Has always been a strong suit of yours

It’s not exactly a quality

that you sought out

No

It found you

But now

you’re perpetually confused

Because

You never know now

if a man is being cordial to you, because

he is sweet and gay and wants a friend

Or if

perhaps

he is sweet and straight

and it is all an act, because

he just wants to sleep with you

You want laughter

You listen to love songs

You think to yourself

a lot

And you cannot just

listen

without imagining

someone

Which is unfair

Maybe you just want

the solace of song

rather than

the longing for lovers

that you will never be good enough

to have

Who do you think about

when you are listening to music

and just want to hear the sound and appreciate

the art of the words

without thinking of hot breath on your neck

and a perfectly imperfect grin that flips your stomach

or a set of broad shoulders that sends chills down your spine

You just

You just want to listen to a song

for once

and not feel anything

If anything you want to feel

for yourself

and not lust

after someone you cannot have

Everyone comes from a story

an anthology of purpose and missteps

However

such stories are often laid to rest

in hopes of perpetual forgetfulness

Like how everyone remembers your uncle

who was big and strong

and had a way of getting any woman

How he died

Suddenly

in a shrouded sort of way

and no one knows really

how

when

or why

You think about his life

his choices

the time in which he lived

and maybe

just maybe

the reason no one knows

is probably

because of shame

Your granddad talks of the uncle

on the rarest of occasions

and in passing

has said that

perhaps

your old uncle

died of AIDS

and that perhaps

the sex that uncle lived for

was the thing

that took his life from him

Great grandfather lived

in the center of town

on a main street

Rode his bike

everywhere he went

He was a man

A man of his hands

He could dis and reassemble

nearly anything

Except for other people

He was a fixer

You cannot fix

that that does not want fixing

He kept a friend at his house

the town said she was a lunatic

that may well have been the truth

“Not all there”

they said of her

But she lived and loved

like the best of em

Though she did

act rather

backward

Flashing people in her bathrobe

baring herself to the world

Your great grandfather

saw the good

in her heart

in her soul

He saw her

as a friend

as a person

and not

a lunatic

Fast anxiety

is the worst kind

It keeps you up at night

Your mind races

in a frequency that you can’t quite understand

Your heart is doing hurdles

in a race with no end

But you still

have to be

the fastest

Which honestly

Sounds like a waste of time, since

you just want to sleep

Perhaps

you should stop

drinking coffee

at

eleven pm

Writing

it has been your one

consistent strength

that you could always rely on

Especially when

you felt as if

you were a failure at

literally

anything

else

What is particularly sad though

is that fact that

you’re not even sure

if you really can write

worth a damn anyhow

People say things are good

But

is it the same as when

you are young

and you feel ugly

and your mom assures you

that you are not

And you are taken aback

Because

you don’t know if

she is being genuine or

only saying that

because

she is your mom

Honestly

One day

When you have children

if they are ugly

you feel like they should know

but you must not tell them

No

Because the world is going to destroy them and

you will not be the reason your child puts a gun in their mouth

or

sleeps around in search of purpose and

a sense of belonging

You will not be the cause of your children

being a burden

to their own world

and their own selves

You can be neurotic

sure

but you will be damned if your children must

suffer due

to your own

faulty

genetics

You could type all night

and it makes you understand

why 4Loko drinks had to remove the caffeine

Because alcohol and caffeine

don’t mix

Neither does being a natural downer

and a cup of coffee

in the middle of the night

You constantly carry your literal

dark cloud

especially when your mind is at rest

There ain’t no rest for the wicked

and there sure ain’t any for the saintly either

To be fair you fall somewhere in the middle

but there too ain’t rest for the moderate

Stream of consciousness poetry sounds kind of like nonsense

but as you write

it makes sense

and you get it

Because spontaneity and thought

are honestly

beautiful

and it is magical to see the evolution of words over time

But what is particularly bad is being an anxious kid

when you just want to be

the fixer of all

the things

and you just

have to stand back and

let other people have the good sometimes

You sure as hell can’t wait for much

when you

don’t have your priorities in check

And

decide to manipulate people

for their age

or to help them “succeed”

It’s also nonsense and

it lands you in

some

pretty awful places

as a felon for starters, coach

You are typing this all with your eyes closed and

you don’t know if

that concept helps the stream or

if you will just eventually type something brilliant

as you lie half awake

on this new mattress pad

Can you imagine being alive

in a world where things are okay

Then wanting to off yourself

because why is that a thing that happens

why do people think it’s okay

to end themselves

and leave a family

or a friend

or a pet

or a lover

or a little sister

behind

It is particularly interesting

for those who have most of those things

a sister

a family

a friend

But a lover is always the hardest and

oftentimes the worst one to try

to speak to

let alone

keep around when you are drowning and

you have lead attached to your shoes and

you are sinking

towards rock bottom

How do you cope

How to feel

What even feels real

Who are you

Are you nobody unless someone is sleeping with you

because if

that is the case

you guess

then

you are just no one

waiting for someone

who seems like they’ll never show

This is gonna be a trip to read in the morning or

some other time

When you’re not tired

and drifting

and trying to grasp on to any words

that linger in the back of your skull

like some old foreign ailments

your pen and keys are merely

trying to extract it

and lobotomize its presence

Speaking of which

lobotomies are the worst

and you cannot believe that

you almost worked in the field that invented that

to hell with that

and everything that it stood for

If you wanted an icepick anywhere it wouldn’t be in your eye

God only knows where you’d put it though

My God

Why am I like this

Is this how Jack Kerouac felt

on the road

on the road again

oh you can’t wait to get back out

on the road again

Okay

Goodnight