My mind is a chaotic mass of thoughts,
of muddled emotions and feelings that form scattered phrases
and broken metaphors and words trying to fit with other words:they're mixed up and disorganized
and sometimes things get lost;
I try to make sense of what remains.
But I'd prefer a mass of disorderly confusion over
a neat intellect with orderly thoughts,
with each word in a perfect line, forming perfect sentences and left alone without question.Because we try to make sense of the confusing,
we try to turn it into something we understand
and make it our own,
and by doing these we turn it into something new and beautiful.
These thoughts are another thing I hope to turn into something new and beautiful.
I want to make sense of these feeling and ideas
and I hope you make sense of them too.-
so here's me trying my hand at poetry again. I hope you enjoy it (and I hope you actually do make sense of it because it would be a shame if I was writing poetry no one understood)
(my goal is to post better poems than this intro)
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
Chaotic Mass
PoetryMy mind is a chaotic mass of thoughts: they're mixed up and disorganized and sometimes things get lost; I try to make sense of what remains.