Too many thoughts

Sometimes, I have too many thoughts,
so much that I cannot think.
How can you have too many thoughts,
that they actually shroud your ability to think?
Thoughts are thinking.

It’s when your thoughts have no composition,
and no real grounding in reality.
There’s no flow; no determination.
Just random thoughts, with random feelings, and random fears, random anxieties, random… whatever.

See, that’s what happens.
My train of thought just dissipates and becomes ‘whatever’.
It’s like the whirlwind of activity within my cranium only allows me but a glance at my thought before it fucks off for another rotation.
Focus dies.
Apathy rises.
Clarity dies.
Lethargy rises.

I feel like my mind is a queue into the X-Factor auditions,
each thought is a hopeless auditionee,
screaming their own brand of notes and rhythms
None are able to break free,
from the snaking queue to the front of the line
they are each eager for their chance to shine.

Then… I regress.
I do nothing. I sit back, and try not to stress.
I figure if I give my thoughts time to reach conformity,
then I can regain my mind’s tranquility.
As if there are too many thoughts in the queue and I just have to wait until the rush-hour is done and all my thoughts have reached their destinations.

It’s not like that though,
it’s not a rush hour,
it’s a busy street in the weeks approaching the holidays.
It’s not busy for a time,
it’s busy all the time.
It’s a state of mind,
Not a state of time.

I need release.

Too many thoughts

This love does not compute

I don’t ever lie when I tell you,
“I love you with all my heart”
I say it with all possible truth,
but now it comes with a caveat.

You see, with what we’ve done,
with what we’ve created,
I’m forced to split with another one,
but you, my dear have not been downgraded.

To me, as a logic man,
the maths does not compute.
Loving you so completely,
loving another so supremely…
I have only one heart to give.

This is not a poem of adultery
Or an admission of wrongdoing,
Because for the love of this ‘other’
I know we both compete.

Since she came into our lives
I’ve been trying to articulate
how I can possibly arrive
At a conclusion I can calculate.

100% implies totality
but now, it is a duality.
Our daughter is my everything.
You are my everything.

This love does not compute

Poetry. A first

I have a deep, fractured relationship with poetry,
When I take the leap, I get great sensations, totally
Then that breaks and I weep, as I’m reminded of Heaney.

Its not that Heaney is shit,
But the teeny sensations begin to lessen
when I remember those high school lessons
then all I can think is that I need to quit.

For crafting the perfect fiction story
And using all my known diction towards it
Were the limits of my kinship
with written script

Never have I been concerned with rhythm or rhyme
Or how a syllables are supposed to sound, each time
And when I read into the different schemes and meters
It almost overwhelms me and makes me teeter,
On the edge of not rhyming at all.

In truth, poems don’t need to rhyme,
It’s as often about delivery and rhythm,
As long as I add these line breaks,
At least I can pretend it’s a poem.

Poetry. A first