Thoughts

Apart of a collection of pained poems created by a 16 year old boy struggling with indecisive thoughts and identifying as apart of the LGBTQ+ community.

When your mind races a million times more,

Or when your thoughts become jumbled, locked inside a box

Yet they seem to fly away and beautify soar,

And then you seem to forget your vulnerable lock.

 

As you spill your indirect thoughts

Towards those who follow,

You gather their sympathetic stares

Leaving your heart to boar deep and hollow.

 

It’s when you come to the point where,

Indecision is followed with ripe disillusion

Where the unwritten constitution of our deepest thoughts,

Race around the track of lacking paws

 

When thoughts of reality traits with unlimited catastrophe

When Life itself glimmers into a dull pit

Where the chambers of the mind itself,

Lay dormant, broken and sheered.

 

My mind is like that,

Illuded with indecision

And ripe with disillusion

Yet it never shows.

 

Some might put that to a strong will,

Or some s****y experiment of life.

Yet we all know how it feels,

To be taken aback a strife.

 

Taking a deep breath, I gather my fake composition

As in reality, my mind races with lack of coalition

Coaxed in bubble wrap, residing deep, deep in my mind

It stayed in the small loft, waiting to rewind

 

As I walk into the halls of hollow education,

I press play on my fake boyish expression,

Limiting my mind to the group in front

Of those who pretend to be my ‘buds’

 

I laugh, smile and celebrate,

Hoping for the chance to not elaborate

For the same locked up thoughts return,

I focus on my pounding presence heartache

 

I wake up, I eat, I learn and repeat.

I sleep on my bed of familiar heat

And though my forehead burns with regret,

I can never tune my thoughts to forget

 

I attempt to shower in gracious thoughts,

I attempt to bathe in powerful talks.

As I spill my indirect thoughts

towards those who follow,

Leaving my heart to boar deep and hollow.

 

It’s when your mind races a million times more,

Or when your thoughts become jumbled, locked inside a box

Yet they seem to fly away and beautify soar,

And then you seem to forget your vulnerable lock.

 

It’s at that point when you start to regret,

Crumpling your thoughts into neglect.