Somewhere in between those words

those carefully thought out words,

so intricitly designed and structured

I lost value of my own thoughts.

 

It's crazy,

cause whenever something tramatic happens,

the first thoughts that pop into my mind

are the most sincere,

most reasonable.

So sure that it comes from above

There must be an angel in my ear

 

Yet,

Like a carefully thought out math problem

I feel that the reality is so twisted, so complicated.

Even then I doubt myself.

 

Maybe this is where my ego lacks

I stand doubtful,

stigmatized inwardly,

invalidly.

"I'm too human and flawed."

I'm young,

ignorant, naive. 

Selfish.

 

Surely there is an answer 

Lemme google it,

Matter of fact, lemme call a friend.

Make that two, or three. 

I sit and doubt, and rethink, and repeat myself.

 

What ever happened to orginal thought?

Looking up a quote of Oscar Wilde

All like " Most people are other people.

Their thoughts are someone else's opinions,

their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."

Well damn right. I must be a collective experience

of all sorts of words and views.

Across different languages,

boarders, races, times and era and space

A collection of people both young and old and dead but not forgotten.

The real me.