They say a man’s mind is shaped like a waffle.
Square designed perfectly for
It’s one thing and that’s why
Boys can focus on a single
Aspect of life
Being interrupted by past sins.
He continues living new lives as he
Goes on the journey of life and each
Life doesn’t know about the last.
They say a woman’s mind is shaped like spaghetti.
Noddle wrapped and entangled with the
Next and that’s why
Girls bleed their feelings into
Every aspect of life.
They’ve cut their finger but still
Continue writing the story of her
As the blood
Drips each part of her
Words have that
One reminder of pain.
But I say my mind is like an open floor.
A white floor that all my papers have
A heard of zebras came
And all my memories start
Flying and the wind of my
Thoughts take them to new places.
Piles of dreams and nightmares mixed
With likes and dislikes of strangers I’ve passed.
What must it be like to be a stranger?
To glace a passive smile and continue on your way like
You don’t even matter like
You don’t even enter that person’s mind.
Does this offend you?
Knowing people can disregard you and your
Life as just
Dirty books on a
Isn’t this all we are?
In the end,
Aren’t we just a few black
Words on a few white
Papers lined so neatly,
Or maybe not so neatly,
On someone’s shelf?
Whether you believe in God or not because,
Let’s be honest,
We are taught that we do not discuss religion at the dinner table.
But isn’t this
So I’ll write these words on a pink
Paper with a blue
Pen and then
They will live forever.
They will live on.
I am dying so
I guess I have no more words.
I guess it’s true.
In the end.