Fuck the Trail: An AuDHD Poem About Landscape Photography
Exploring AuDHD Through Landscape Photography
Since taking and passing an A-Level in understanding mental health, and receiving a late diagnosis for both Autism and ADHD (often referred to as AuDHD) my creative process has finally started to make sense.
This piece of AuDHD poetry, ‘Fuck the Trail,’ captures a morning out on the moors.
It’s a tug-of-war between my autistic need for rigid planning and my ADHD’s relentless pursuit of dopamine and shiny things.
If you want to understand what AuDHD feels like in the wild, try color-coordinating your lens filters for three hours the night before, only to leave your SD card on the kitchen top because you saw a really interesting moth on the way out the door.
The autistic brain creates a masterclass in risk assessment and itinerary planning; the ADHD brain uses that itinerary to wipe mud off a lens.
This poem is about what happens when those two minds share the same pair of hiking boots.
Fuck the Trail: A Landscape Photography Poem
I packed my bag the night before, my gear aligned just so,
The autism demanded that I’m fully fit to go.
Everything had designated pockets, batteries charged to max,
A step-by-step itinerary neatly folded in my pack.
I knew the grid reference, the route, the Golden Hour time,
A peaceful, structured outing to capture light sublime.
Then ADHD woke at five and shouted, “Fuck the trail!”
And threw my perfect schedule straight off the fucking rail.
We abandoned the main pathway for a muddy, unmarked track,
Because a shiny, lichened rock was calling from the back.
Now half my brain is screaming, “This is not the plan!”
While the other’s leaping hummocks like a caffeine-fuelled man.
The moorland sensory buffet is dialling up to ten:
The crunch of frozen heather underfoot—and then…
SQUELCH.
My left boot vanishes into a peat bog black and deep —
“Oh, piss off!” I yell aloud, startling a sheep.
The wind comes knifing through my coat, a cold and bitter blast,
My autistic side is overwhelmed; the input’s coming fast.
“Take a breath,” I tell myself. “Set up the tripod stand.”
The autism seeks some order in this wild and rugged land.
I level out the tripod legs and set the ISO low,
Then frame the sweeping valley where the morning mist will flow.
It’s balanced and symmetrical — a masterpiece of calm,
A soothing drop of order, like a cool and steady balm.
“BUT WAIT!” shouts ADHD. “Look at that rock! It needs a pose!”
And suddenly I’m sprinting while my careful planning goes.
Forget the careful composition! Forget the rule of thirds!
There’s a strangely shaped tree! A phallic peat bog! A flock of fleeting birds!
I’m shooting now on burst mode, just hammering the shutter,
While my inner autistic planner can only gasp and stutter:
“Your horizon isn’t level! Your aperture is wrong!”
But ADHD is dancing to a fast-paced techno song.
I sit down on a tussock to review the shots I’ve made,
And realise forty minutes of hyper-focus have slipped away.
Eighty shots of one small moss, each framed from every side —
Ah, shit. The Golden Hour has packed its bags and died.
My SD card is filling up, my battery’s down to ten,
And where the fuck’s my lens cap? Ah—it’s in the bog again.
My boots are soaked, my fingers numb, my knees are fucking shot,
A chaotic storm of “hyper-focus, detours, and oh fuck, I forgot.”
My autistic side is sighing at the wreckage of the day,
While ADHD is hunting for the next bright thing to chase.
And yet I look across the moor, where light and shadow play,
And every crooked detour has somehow led me here today.
Autism catches details that the world can hurry past —
The frost upon the bracken, every tiny blade of grass.
ADHD brings wonder, chasing magic on the fly,
Catching sudden flashes where the light cuts through the sky.
So here I stand, bedraggled, knee-deep in the heather,
With AuDHD and moorland light colliding altogether.
I haven’t followed any plan; my boots are full of slime,
But somewhere in this glorious mess, I found the shot in time.
And when I lift the camera, all the noise begins to cease —
The world falls into focus, and for once, so does the peace.
Themes & Interpretation: Late-Diagnosed Autism and ADHD
Living with late-diagnosed autism and ADHD means existing at a constant intersection between a desire for rigid structure and an impulse for chaotic discovery.
“Fuck the Trail” captures that internal tug-of-war, where the sensory overload of freezing moorland winds and squelching mud collides directly with the intense pull of ADHD hyper-focus.
In neurodivergent creative writing, we often talk about the friction between these two minds—how autistic planning seeks order in nature, while ADHD chases sudden flashes of wonder.
Sure, the 'golden hour' might pass while I’m taking 80 identical shots of a piece of moss, that all turned out to shit by the way. And yes, I will probably lose another lens cap to a peat bog. But the reality of AuDHD is that the 'wrong' path usually holds the most interesting light
Ultimately, this poem is a celebration of that glorious mess: accepting that even when the original plan falls apart, the neurodivergent lens offers a uniquely vivid way to experience and photograph the world.
Living with late-diagnosed autism and ADHD is a constant tug-of-war between rigid structure and chaotic discovery. 'Fuck the Trail' is an original piece of AuDHD poetry about what happens when the neurodivergent mind meets the wild moorlands.