Executive Dysfunction Blues

My mother looks around the place I stay. She sighs, "Oh my gosh,

how do you live this way?" My keys are in the fridge, my sock drawer's

gone rogue. My carpet holds my clothes, it's now my floor-trobe.

There's a laundry pile that's nearly as tall as me. And my room

is covered with cups of half-drunk tea. She calls it chaos,

sure, I can't disagree. But there's more to it than the clutter

she sees. My brain's not lazy, my focus never stays.

Tasks feel like hard puzzles, they take me days. I know what