My Thoughts, Unheard (Beating Words)

What can I say?

In my head it plays,

Roughly,

Loudly,

Pounding,

BANG!

The words, they burst out,

They roar, they shout.

Like crashing pans--

A constant clatter and clang,

There is no stop,

To the sounds in my brain.

It’s so unorganized,

Yet,

Occasionally straight.

Wait, it’s still

                Choppy.

                                Hey, I just want to think clearly here!

But no,

They rhyme,

In time, sometimes.

They add their own beat,

Like invisible feet,

Stomping around

Making cacophony.

Usually.

My neurons cannot take it,

But this is how I make it:

I write them down,

Forcing them away,

I shove them all from my mind,

Down onto a page.

My pencil scratching,

My fingers typing,

To the poetic beat,

The different beats,

The off-beats,

Beating.

 

Maybe this is too harsh,

A clean-cut poem is what everyone wants, right?

Rejected by my own mind, its creator,

I should just throw this out, or

Maybe not, because this is me,

My thoughts,

Unedited,

Caught,

In this perpetual beat.

Never mind my tone because

This is poetry to me--

An on-going, continuous, endless,

Beat,

That my subconscious plays,

At double speed,

             Repeat.

So, what can I say?

I do complain, but appreciate,

Somewhat,

The crazy, insane,

Musical score,

In my head,

That beats a beat,

A bashing, boisterous beat,

A beastly, blusterous beat,

That no one follows.

 

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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