Thoughts by Elisa Cordina
But how do you expect people to understand you,
If you can’t even understand yourself?
And how do you expect others to fathom your thoughts,
If they, muddled, are put aside on a shelf?
You are disoriented, conflicted, bewildered,
Your thoughts chaotic, unclear, untidy,
Overwhelmed, yet you try to escape the fog,
Perhaps you succeed… ever so slightly.
You’re right, that’s too good to be true.
How could you think your thoughts wouldn’t be laughed at, scorned, mocked?
Time to box them up, again, again,
An abundance of unheard hubbub, on a shelf stocked.
Maybe next time you’ll pack yourself on that shelf,
All your smiles, laughs and twinkles,
Save your being… that way you can’t be scorned,
But what if you wake up from the reverie and find your being wasted, unknown, with wrinkles?
Your thoughts are you,
And you your thoughts.