i seem to speak my mind when i write poetry
i wouldn't venture to consider them 'poems'
they are more of a snippet from my mind
all of the wondrous and terrible thoughts
that i withhold in this
bursting mind of mine

my mind is a terrible place, i wouldn't visit willingly
i withhold nightmares of my past and
nightmares i know are destined to be
my future
i create vivid dreams and scenarios of my fantasy world
which i live in

my mind wanders to and from my habits,
both cheap and expensive
but who am i to tell you what my mind is
for after all, it is a place you will never see

how lucky for you