Thinking

Thinking was never my greatest subject in school. It would travel off the task to darker places than what was assigned, but my friend became the teacher, and I’m confident I passed this exam. They told me they believe I’m addicted to the pain, afraid to get better, then asked me why I surround myself with the poetry and music. No beats are missed when I tell them my answer in three parts;

I. I read the poems in search for the comfort in knowing there are others with the same pains, struggles, and frustrations. That I am not alone in every thing I feel, think, and overthink. I love the realness every metaphor can hold.

II. I listen to the music for the same beautiful relationship between the lyrics and my life, carried along by the sounds they create.

III. I write not to be trapped by the pain, but to release it, turn it into something other than everything trapped in my brain, to keep me going until the next good day.

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Or Maybe It’s Insomnia

As the saying goes,
the inability to sleep comes
from another having you
stuck in their thoughts.

If this is true, who is
spending so many hours
with me on their mind?

Tell me why I am the
one your thoughts have
decided to become stuck on.

Tell me all you haven’t
said in the waking hours.

If this saying is true,
I apologize for so many
long nights spent with
my presence in your head.