If I just bring it to life, is it mine?
A spark ignites, but where is the line?
It wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t begun,
But when it’s finished, do I claim I’m the one?
I stitch together fragments of thought,
But nothing I have is something I’ve caught.
I gather the pieces, I make them whole,
But the voice in my head says it's not from my soul.
I wear these words like they’re my own skin,
But underneath, is there truth within?
Am I the artist, or just a guide,
Following shadows where others hide?
I’m broken down by all I disguise,
Buried beneath a web of lies.
Nothing belongs to me in the end,
Not the verse, not the truth I pretend.
Every line feels like a stolen claim,
And every signature, a hollow name.
Am I the maker or just the hand,
Tracing a path I don’t understand?
So I sit with the doubt, it lingers near,
Whispering softly, feeding my fear.
These words that I share, do they belong to me?
Or am I just lost in a borrowed sea...
YOU ARE READING
Chaos In My Mind
Poetry𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑀𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑜ℎ 𝑠𝑎𝑦 ... This is a book of some poems I've written r...
