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.