Poetry is who I am, you know
My counterintuitively creative phrases made me
Keeping the estate that I call my mind clean of them
Is simply impossible, and they hale from me
So welcome the hopelessly rapt tone that comes
With my extravagantly simple prose
And take an insurmountably nonsensical joyride into my mind
And since I'm quite fond of you
I feel the need to admonish,
That you might get lost
In the scrambled philosophies that I call thoughts
If you attempt the daunting and tedious task
Of trying to understand me
So just let me sweep you up
In the languidness of my words
We'll go on a tour
Of the scrambled philosophy that I call me
And guess who'll be your guide?
After all, I am an internal person, at times
So take my hand
And maybe throughout our tour
You'll begin to understand
The scrambled philosophy that I call you
All you have to do is
Trust me
YOU ARE READING
The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts
PoetryThe scattered musings about love and life by a(n) (a)musing girl who knows little of either.
