The boy in my head,
Talks to me.
As I lay in my bed,
Trying to sleep.
His questions are one too many,
And a different one each.
Few that gnaw at my brain,
Few that are within my reach.
But neither does he have an image,
Nor a name.
And it never crossed my mind,
To ask him the same.
He still does talk to me-
But not too much anymore.
Just a 'hi' or 'hello'
He doesn't ask questions anymore
I think of the possible reasons,
And one comes to mind.
The boy stopped conversing when,
I was taught what to think how to think.
He knew before
I did, that-
When I answered him
That was my voice.
As I learnt what to think- how to think
I lost my voice.
As everything was of the outside world
My mind was not my own.
YOU ARE READING
Inside Her Mind.
PoetryThis little bunch of poems that I am writing is 'how' I feel sometimes 'what' I feel sometimes... these are views towards life and relationships with people and all my compressed thoughts expressed.... They reflect me people I know and what they wan...
