The Workings of My Mind
(A/K/A The Rubbish Bin Inside)
You say you want to know my mind,
That if you could but understand me
Then you could understand everyone because I'm so hard to read.
To travel through the dark passage ways
Hidden deep in my psyche, you must be well armed,
And even well prepared, for what it is you may find.
To walk those twisting turning pathways
You must expect that you will be blinded,
If not by the darkness you shall find,
Then by the sudden light that sometimes shines.
Though my mind is the center,
The crux, of who and what I am,
It is my heart that you should truly seek to know.
For my heart holds the goodness,
Having filtered out the bitterness
That grows so easily in the dark.
My mind is but a warehouse that is used to store
Every bit of everything and even something more.
In my mind I sort and sift
Through all the detritus of my life
Grouping each event, each moment
So it can be labeled for safekeeping,and to aid in it's retrieval.
When something happens, or something new is said
I compare it to those moments past
Adding it to the astounding lot of information
That my boundless mind does hold.
Each thought I have is linked to something stored in there.
A continuous chain that often holds me tightly
As if I'm shackled and held prisoner by the jailer in my mind.
Though I try to find the reason by always asking why,
> I rarely find an answer that will satisfy.
Ropes and pulleys, chains and lifts,
Tools of thought so often misdirected by lack of understanding.
I often find the things I've kept are very wrongly stacked and stored.
Each item I connect is done instinctively,
By comparing those experiences that have made me Me.
More and more I find that I've attached too much,
Or even worse, what I've made a set that is really quite mismatched.
My tools are very flawed and used ineffectively
So I've had to change the way it works and hope it's no more defective.
As confused as I've become, inside this busy place,
I think it's safe to say you might be lost forever if you take a peek.
So I must implore of you, that you cease to seek my mind.
It's a dangerous place for any who venture
Even a step inside it's always open door.
Look instead to the things I try to express,
The words I speak are chosen with much care
To paint a picture you can see.
Those very words come from an open heart
To voice the truth as I know it
Without the dark confusion and blinding rays of light.
© 2005 Sheryl Whitlock
