Thoughts (from a place that might be in my head)
Usually, when I try write,
it’s to tell a certain narrative.
They’re usually written out in verse
and with any rhyme I care to give.
But sometimes I just want to write for crap.
I’m still stuck up in meter, but I try
to let myself relax. Breathe in. Breathe out.
It shouldn’t be this hard to let you know
what I’m feeling-
When, where, why.
It shouldn’t be
to express my emotions, my feelings,
But maybe I’m more of a form-fitter,
a rule-follower, a
“There’s nothing extraordinary about me,” I say to myself as I slowly close the doors, sealing off the various corners of my brain that I’ve been exploring.
Well, comes my cold reply. I could have told you that.
I sneer. “This is what I’m talking about. Why do we always end up disagreeing with ourself?”
But that’s the way it seems to be at night-
that’s the way thoughts are- they change like seasons.
The rhythm might be off, the words not right,
and sometimes there is rhyme, if not a reason.