What I Converse About: In 3 Minutes Flat

Friend: What goes on in that head of yours Elizabeth?……

Me: …….. I don't know. Do you want the dumbed down version, or something mildly poetic?

Friend: How about both…?

Me: Ummmmm…. What's in my head…… ummmm. Ok…..

My Head is a continual stream of consciousness looking for it's ocean. Filled in lines with no ellipses, commas, or periods……

My head is a rambling abode of chaos with only rhyme and no reason. It tends to fuck with treasonous thoughts, if only because it brings me closer to an edge… my edge of understanding.

I am my own conundrum.

My head is a container of neurosis that spills out from time to time. The destructive child. The mother who cleans up the messes.

My head is warring alongside the world with a silent hope for peace. My head is waiting. Waiting for my heart to catch up, because it's tired of running so fast, and feeling so slow.

My head is yearning for my next walk, because it misses the sound of his footsteps.

My head is loud, quiet, still… erratic. Moving toward cessation.

My head is humpty dumpty after the second fall.

My head is a drummer… the dimmer switch, my catalyst for light. A lens projecting the disfigured state of the world, gracefully. An idolizing fool mimicking what my heart once was.

My head is aching from dissonance, digging through clutter to find clarity, trying to find the words, a connection that makes me feel less lonely than being alone.

So where is my head these days….? Everywhere but where it should, in the exact place it needs to be….

Friend: Oh….. So what's the mildly poetic version?

Me: That's it's blank most of the day and when synapses occasionally fire it comes up with a odd thought that gets instantaneously sidetracked by shiny things.

Friend: Sounds about right.

Me: Yeah…. Yeah it does.