You Don't Know What Goes On In

Sometimes We Have Thoughts That Even We Don’t Understand. Thoughts That Aren’t Even True—that Aren’t Really How We Feel—but They’re Running Through Our Heads Anyway Because They’re Interesting To Think About. If You Could Hear Other People’s Thoughts, You’d Overhear Things That Are True As Well As Things That Are Completely Random. And You Wouldn’t Know One From The Other. It’d Drive You Insane. What’s True? What’s Not? A Million Ideas, But What Do They Mean?

You Told Me I Wrote That Poem Because I Was Afraid Of Dealing With Myself. And I Used My Mom As An Excuse, Accusing Her Of Not Appreciating Or Accepting Me, When I Should Have Been Saying Those Words Into A Mirror.

Like Driving Along A Bumpy Road And Losing Control Of The Steering Wheel, Tossing You—just A Tad—off The Road. The Wheels Kick Up Some Dirt, But You're Able To Pull It Back. Yet No Matter How Hard You Try To Drive Straight, Something Keeps Jerking You To The Side. You Have So Little Control Over Anything Anymore. And At Some Point, The Struggle Becomes Too Much—too Tiring—and You Consider Letting Go. Allowing Tragedy... Or Whatever... To Happen.

Because What If I Got To Know You And You Turned Out To Be Just Like They Said? What If You Weren’t The Person I Hoped You Were? That, More Than Anything, Would Have Hurt The Most.

But I Need To Wake Up Somehow. Or Maybe Not. Maybe It’s Best To Get Through The Day Half-asleep. Maybe That’s The Only Way To Get Through Today.