I wonder why I talk this way.
not always meaning what I say.
My thoughts like grandma's wrinkled skin,
are creased with angst that I let in.
It causes words not meant to say;
that hurt and last for many days
The world has good and it has bad.
The really good can make you glad.
Fast paced, I don't control my life;
can't limit things that cause much strife.
Insurance only pays so much;
for medical, they're out of touch.
I worry that I'll lose my house,
my savings, mind and even spouse.
If I should fade from getting ill,
can I afford designer pills?
My grandma's skin is beautiful
She knits me sweaters made from wool.
I never have to worry bout
cold thoughts cause wool will keep them out.
She knows that danger sometimes lurks
when nothing's there that really works
She taught me well to smother ire
to water down and squelch the fire
Raw anger will infect my mind;
it's so much better to be kind.
My thoughts will gather all around,
but some get lost and never found.
They meet and talk and laugh and joke;
so many that I start to choke.
Whenever thoughts arrive as new,
I must decide to keep a few.
They jump inside my jumbled head
replacing thoughts already dead
But thoughts that still belong in there
will fold their arms and only stare.
I do not know which ones to keep
and which will not allow for sleep.
Some thoughts will shout and others peek,
while some are strong and others weak.
It's best to take the strongest one
and let it go to have some fun.
The quiet ones will make me whole
by spending time inside my soul
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