Traits (Polished Version)

Traits (POLISHED)

Why can’t there be something easy to help me?

Who am I?

What am I?

The Tasmanian devil that spins through the desert.

The Road Runner that says beep beep and runs as fast as they can.

The Duracell bunny that goes and goes and goes—

Even when the batteries begin to slow,

She still thumps on the drum: thump, thump, thump.

And the Martini girl—

Any time, any place, anywhere.

The children come, and we still run.

Any time, any place, anywhere.

The Fast Show sketch shows me oh so well.

I pick up the pushchair and run, run, run—

After the husband,

And the children run behind, trying to keep up.

I thought we ran together.

But I see now—I ran behind.

My life: running.

But running for what?

Where was I trying to go?

What was I trying to catch?

I ponder.

I don’t know that.

Black and white like a zebra—

The words just blurting out of my mouth,

A tongue of venomous viper,

Or the love of a million hearts.

I know I am a tsunami of praise.

Or I am a tsunami of insults.

Undereducated.

Over-utilised.

Perimenopause.

The words became so hard to roll,

They began to stop.

My flow corrupt.

My tears.

My sadness.

My over.

Seeing my best choices and decisions—

Decisions like a two-sided coin.

At the time, they seemed so right.

But with reflection and time,

They were also so wrong.

Taking advantage was inevitable.

I was pushed and pulled,

And my jar emptied.

It turns out—I’m not a superhero.

I may be a great artist.

I may be my own number one fan.

And I may never be diagnosed,

Because like everything in my life—

I’m confusing.

Confusion.

Masks.

Hidden.

Embarrassed.

I’m a cross-section.

I am my ADHD chaos.

I am my Autistic Self.

I am my AuDHD.

My Neurodiversity.

If only the title was given to me—

I think I would be able to see more clearly.

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