Me?

I’m not perfect, you’ll soon figure that out

I’m human, a potential pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife

I worry about what might happen next

And wonder “what if” as I get older

My mind must think it’s training for a marathon

Because in all my years it’s never stopped running

Paranoia slips in and out of my thoughts

And Melancholy has found itself a home

When you talk to me and I don’t answer

My eyes are focused on something else

And my thoughts are too.

Some call it being spacey- a regular astronaut

Some call it being ditzy- your dumb blonde stereotype.

I call it being lost in your own thoughts

Having so much to think about

That each train of thought fights for your attention

Until it’s like a battlefield, bloody brain waves strewn about.

So like I said, I’m not perfect,

A galaxy or two away perhaps,

If I’m lucky.

we were supposed to write something about "personal identity", only, everything i wrote was waaaay too personal. So this is what i turned in. I'm not happy with it. At all.