Thoughts and Poems are the Same Thing

clouds

I feel like I have clouds in my brain.

Or maybe cotton balls. 

My parent's voices break through, piercing the fog

and then I float back into the sky.

I don't know why I get like this...

it happens every once and a while.

I want to sit and do nothing all day

I want to be alone.

Inside my head, I know I should be spending time with family

reaching out to friends

but I am perfectly at peace, here in my own head.

Trapped in my self-constructed bubble.

I hear the mixer downstairs,

Dad making us a treat...

but what if I don't want to leave

my small bedroom retreat?

And suddenly my poem is rhyming...

but I can't seem to move my feet.

My body won't move to the world's timing...

so I stay here in my seat.

And my seat is really just the floor.

See? I'm desperate for a rhyme.

I'm going to break that pattern now...

isn't that sublime?

Dang it...I rhymed again, 

I just couldn't help it. 

I feel better already...

but yet, still here I sit.

This poem is going nowhere,

so now I'm off to write

a story that no one will every read--

the story of my life.