The space inside your
Head is too crowded
It’s supposed to be yours but
The thoughts’ve got a mind of their own
They cozy up to one another,
Snuggling, birthing sets
Of quintuplets, of twins
Mating and multiplying,
Become no more than pests
And one can’t sneeze
Without digging an
Elbow into another’s ribs
As for an expiration date,
They say, “what’s that?”
Their voices are loud
They take too much space,
Shoving me out of the place.
It’s really not a shock
You say I’m quirky-
Another word for
Insane.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Life of Thought
PoetrySometimes we don't say a word because our mind is too full of them. These pages hold just a few of those.
