Other People But Not Me
Other people can sit still.
They do not scream when they speak.
I have a cheerleader’s voice
even when I whisper.
My heart is a motor that keeps me running
in circles, up and down, over and under.
I think differently, not realizing I am impulsive.
Feeling it is the rest of them who are strange.
ADHD they say; yes, of course.
The problem is that they have to
practice with their medicines.
None of them work the same on any of us.
We have it, but at different levels, different doses, different volumes.
Some of us are walking zombies for weeks.
With no affect, only wanting to nap,
wishing we were not on it.
Some of us stop taking it, preferring to
run in circles, driving society crazy.
Some of us wonder why we are given this terrific gift.
We make wonderful writers, poets, story tellers, painters,
speakers after we grow up and do not have to act
socialized in a school setting. Maybe that is why we are
gifted with ADHD?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
