THE MIND

A complicated mind

shaped my destiny.

That same mind fed me

the many untruths

that bred my myriad phobias.

Why did I never question them?

When I ventured out into the world

I saw only reflections

of another's paranoia.

Society was a forbidding concept

filled with dangerous pitfalls, so I feared

every shadow, mistrusted every stranger's smile.

Later, within my poetry,

that mind's unfulfilled dreams found expression

in a kind of mournful angst. It also

laced my relationships with a deadly poison:

"Men are the enemy. Never trust them!"

Self fulfilling prophesy. Inward struggle.

Who am I really?

Now, sometimes I question

if it ever was that other mind at all,

but was actually mine all along.

Other times, I wonder if it could be

a genetic anomaly in my psyche

that so warps intuition and fuels

my quest for the inexplicable, the

impossible ideal that other mind

spent a lifetime seeking

yet never ever found.

Have I, indeed, become my mother?

Is it possible that these thoughts

running through my head - these, now,

originated in another mind

that is continuing to influence me

from beyond the grave?

Or is it simply that I am cursed

with the kind of mind that thinks too much? 😉