Checkmate

I wish there were a rhythm to my thoughts.

I wouldn't mind the bad ones so much if I could predict when they're due;
if there were obvious catalysts such as rain, a feud or the flu.
It wouldn't be so bad if I had some sort of clue,
the type of hue my brain is coloured, and I knew
that today my thoughts are going to be skewed.
I could prevent, distract, even attack,
and master the knack; attempt to fight back,
but, it's this consistency my head seems to lack,
I've very suddenly fallen off track—
my mind zooms out, I have to pull back.

That's the thing with your brain, it's kind of a mess,
all you can do, I guess, is supress,
keep going, keep going, don't allow yourself to regress.
Sometimes, it's hard but you have to address and confess
the mess inside the head you possess.
The thoughts come on good, as well as bad days,
even when you can feel the sunshine's rays.
Those times your mind is a grey haze,
and you lack the courage to find the ways
to combat and give yourself praise.


This poem will have a positive end,
because in the end we tend to lend
our thoughts to a friend, which is a godsend,
to be able to reach out, instead, to pretend
that you're fine.


Although now things may not seem great,
there will someday, be a date
when you can finally lift the weight
off your shoulders and say: today you will not dictate
my thoughts anymore. So, I will create,
celebrate, fight this fate, and to the bad thoughts I will say:
checkmate.

 

 

 

By Amelia Jane

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