They say a man’s mind is shaped like a waffle.

With each

Square designed perfectly for

It’s one thing and that’s why

Boys can focus on a single

Aspect of life

Without

Being interrupted by past sins.

As if

He continues living new lives as he

Goes on the journey of life and each

Life doesn’t know about the last.

 

They say a woman’s mind is shaped like spaghetti.

With each

Noddle wrapped and entangled with the

Next and that’s why

Girls bleed their feelings into

Every aspect of life.

As if

They’ve cut their finger but still

Continue writing the story of her

Life but

As the blood

Drips each part of her

Words have that

One reminder of pain.

 

But I say my mind is like an open floor.

A white floor that all my papers have

Strewn across.

As if

A heard of zebras came

Running through

And all my memories start

Flying and the wind of my

Thoughts take them to new places.

Piles of dreams and nightmares mixed

With likes and dislikes of strangers I’ve passed.

 

What must it be like to be a stranger?

To glace a passive smile and continue on your way like

You don’t even matter like

You don’t even enter that person’s mind.

 

Does this offend you?

Knowing people can disregard you and your

Simple

Little

Life as just

Dirty books on a

Dirty shelf.

After all,

Isn’t this all we are?

 

In the end,

Aren’t we just a few black

Words on a few white

Papers lined so neatly,

Or maybe not so neatly,

On someone’s shelf?

 

Whether you believe in God or not because,

Let’s be honest,

We are taught that we do not discuss religion at the dinner table.

But isn’t this

Our end?

 

So I’ll write these words on a pink

Paper with a blue

Pen and then

They will live forever.

They will live on.

And on.

And on.

 

But

I am dying so

I guess I have no more words.

 

I guess it’s true.

 

Everything ends,

In the end.