cupid’s arrow aimed at my frontal—
cortex,

cupid’s arrow aimed for my brain, not my—
chest,

i did not see it coming (too fast for the eye can see)
trembling— with cupid’s bow in my hands:

"Am I the really real me?"

feeling my cerebral fluids leaking—
i’m seeking—
the truth,

"But what is the cost?"

your life you will lose.

I’m sick of my brain telling me no one cares
that no one really loves me and if I wasn’t around no one would notice
It’s told me this my whole life
For as long as I can recall memories
And as long as I’ve been old enough to think for myself,
my brain has lied to me so many times

I cannot seem to write
without rhyming.

It is not a simple matter
of timing
but has become
my mental wiring.

I find other
non-rhyming
poets so inspiring
so deeply
neurally
firing,
sparking
inspiration.

But my brain
has lost the ability
to make any poetry
without playing with
rhymes.

For we see with our eyes
And hear with our ears,
But have a choice to feel with our minds
Or our hearts.

Bolts go with screwdrivers
Wrenches install nails
and life keeps going.

Sadness goes with anger
Empty thoughts will never fill
and life keeps going.

peel back my skin
carve unto my bone
slicing away layers of flesh
unwinding coils of neurons
remove, reset
remove, reset
rearrange what is left
of me
replace what was lost
by me
and once fully done
glue my pieces back together
place in the bone and seal it
so that my thoughts remain inside
fold back my skin
bandage me up
so that I am new

the mind is only as deep as the ocean is wide, for as people we must attempt to grasp both the mind and the ocean.

but i’m afraid of the water.