Melting Pot

The mind, my mind, is a melting pot.
I add and add stuff and singing
Baggage and things.
The pot can only hold so much,
Not enough it seems.
People dump their stuff inside
I churn out a stew to keep their stride
Hold them up,
Tighter and tighter
To see them fall
Would make things lighter
If you add the wrong thing to the pot
It can boil over, very very hot.
I race and I think faster and harder
Words can't articulate,
No more can thoughts form
My pot becomes a blurry amalgamation
Of who I once was
Who I am
Who I will be
Until eventually the pot boils over
I can think again, clear and sober
From these things that forced it full
Until they force it full again.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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