Clutter Inside My Head

Clutter Inside My Head

Sometimes I sit and wonder why

my thoughts keep fighting for the light,

a jumble of words that twist and turn,

some too loud, some too shy to speak.

Old memories push through the crowd,

faces I loved then forgot to miss,

they bump against dreams I never had,

and scatter like dust in a restless breeze.

I try to clear a path through them all,

but each idea clings like ivy to stone,

a voice says stay, another says go,

and I end up lost in the middle again.

There are songs half-sung in corners,

small regrets dressed as wisdom,

I dust them off, pretend they shine,

but they still hum the same sad tune.

The clutter builds a kingdom of chaos,

where reason and madness share a bed,

I open a window to let it out,

and somehow more thoughts fly in instead.

So I live with the noise and the laughter,

the whispers, the ghosts, the unspoken things,

and I call it my head, my strange little room,

forever untidy, forever my own.