I stop
as my thoughts spill out
onto the ground.
My halfway thoughts
are nails to step on
while the whole thoughts slip
and slide to the sky-
thought clouds
sitting on fireworks of blue.
I am half-full of half thoughts
and half-empty of hot air
and broken Barbie dolls.
I am halfway to becoming
a bestselling book,
an Egyptian goddess.
I stop
at a fork in the road
and go straight forward,
or sideways,
or diagonally.
My half thoughts are half-bricks
not enough to be a wall,
but enough to be sandbags
on a hot air balloon-
also known as me, or myself,
or I.
Myself does not agree with Me
while Me endorses I
and I hates me and Myself both
for they are altogether
too self-centered.
I stop to collect my nails
at the side of a broken road,
though my hammers
are thought clouds,
my sideways, half-filled air balloon
is filled with bricks,
and Me, Myself, and I
are fighting to the death.
It’s a wonder
I’m still halfway there.