The Mind

My mind is full.

It’s troubled with thoughts of pain.

I write my thoughts.

With no gain of relief.

Maybe it will never happen.

Maybe it has to be this way.

Maybe I’m my own enemy.

What stopping you?

I ask every day.

Still no answer.

What’s missing?

Still no answer.

I have my homemade memory headache.

Only I make it best.

I’m stuck in my own head space.

I punish myself and don’t know it.

My mind, my mind

That’s the point it’s my mind.

No one else can figure it out  for me.

Soon enough I will.