Anchor

(TW: Sensory overload, parental conflict)

I'm already shaking

At three in the afternoon.

The voices and lights

That fight for my attention

Are starting to get to me,

Because Concerta can only fend off

So much

Before the dam breaks

And it all comes rushing back

In mammoth waves,

The churning white froth

Of the rebound

Stampeding rapidly closer

As I attempt to brace myself

For the hit.

Getting talked at by a teacher

Or a friend

and then tossed around in the hallway,

And then remembering

That eventually

I'm going to have to go home

And get yelled at by a parent

Or two

And get tossed around at the dinner table,

All while trying to hold off a tsunami,

Is not as fun as it sounds.

I have so much shit to do,

I think to myself.

Please stop talking.

Please stop giving me

More to think about

Than I can handle.

Please give me silence,

And give me time,

Because silence and time

Are precious resources

That I never have enough of.

You are the only person

I don't have to speak to.

The only person

Who will just sit there

And play guitar

And be my anchor

Without even trying.

I don't know

If you know

That you're doing

Exactly what I need you to,

And I know

That you don't know

Anything about me

Except what I choose

To tell you.

So this is me telling you

Even though you'll never hear it.

And I'm going to keep it that way

Because I know you need

More silence and time

Than I do.