The words,

They flow from my thoughts,

To my hands,

In speedy typing or desperate scribbles.

Trying to convey the meaning behind it all.

Because my thoughts are a lake,

A bottomless pit that engulfs me in my own entirety.

I often squander the meaning behind everything,

Such as how life become a mindless parade.

But my mind wanders to easy.

So my mind becomes a waste bin with crumpled balls of paper,

Each thrown away by someone who has swam in the waters.

A complaint that the liquids are much too heavy and dense,

That they sank without a chance of seeing the light of reason before being pulled out and breathed to life by society's definition of normal and acceptable.

I never understood much about conformity till all the girls started to look the same,

All the songs became the same,

And my own tune became a subtle echo of background noise,

Few decided to sit and listen.

Even fewer listened my song when it became a screaming cry.

Begging to be understood and entertained with the idea that thinking,

With such a grim mindset,

Was okay,

That it was normal.

But my tone has changed again.

I crave to become something more.

Someone who can influence for the better.

Someone who can inspire others to be their best selves,

To love themselves,

And others.

I've been told that my words are uplifting.

But my thoughts are coming dangerously close to becoming floods.

But perhaps that's what needs to happen.

A flood of perpetual meaning.

Life needs to be more.

It needs to have more,

More meaning.