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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
this difficult
to express my emotions, my feelings,
myself.
But maybe I’m more of a form-fitter,
a rule-follower, a
regular
person.
“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.
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Doors...
I will never think of my thoughts the same... thanks to you. now my mind is a long hallway, with hundreds of doors.
I really really like this piece. I mean really really like it. This is one of my favorite pieces I've ever come across. I liked how you made it have a form by trying not to have a form. Also, remember that poetry has no 'set" rules to how to write it, only the ones in your mind.
-zeus
The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon.
:)
Thank you so much! And yes, that is always a nice reminder. :)
ϟ
"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”