Sometimes it occurs to me that my thoughts are
not my own
. Rather, they are my desires and
longing taking form in poems, lyrics; other
I don't think it's that I can't
find words to tell what I'm thinking, draw what I'm
seeing. It's just easiest to form these things using
pre-existing constructs. When I think: Every day is like survival, it just
sounds like a line, but I'm busy concentrating on the
survival, I can't find energy to originate my own
words, lengthy explanations that will never convey what
I need to say. I use the little subtitle that popped
up in my mind, because as a caption; it works.
in other people's words: I use cliches to condense what
my thoughts tell me, the hubbub of voices I hear.
I'm so scared that I'll never get put back
That says it all: True, you may not
learn much about things that way. But that's what my
thoughts sound like, under all the echoes
of "This can't be real" and "Let go, let go".
I can grasp someone else's statement and
use it as a prop for everything I hear but
can't put to concise words.
Get into the line where you belong.
what I sound like; bits of strangers' words,
plagiarism for convenience. My voice, keeping harmony
with a song I've long forgotten, chimes in with the
refrain and more truth than I care to hear:
But where do you belong?
If you could tune
in to my thoughts, they'd be very much like three
radios on simultaneous scan, random clips of songs
telling a disjointed story. That's what it sounds like.