I am starting to see the shape of my thinking, as I enter certain rooms afraid of finding any evidence that the room has earned my vigilance,
I am starting to see the shape of my thinking, now that I cannot tell anymore whether I am choosing them or whether they are the ones doing the choosing while I call it personality,
When did the repeated thought stop being something, I was seeing everything through without realizing the lens was even there between me and whatever I was looking at,
I am starting to see the shape of my thinking, and witnessing it unsettles me because it means I helped create it, though admitting that truth is another story...
Recently I’ve realized my mind has been taking on the color of what I feed it, the way paper holds the imprint of whatever leans against it for too long, and I’ve been pressed against it so long that I forgot the imprint was partly mine,
Recently I’ve realized my mind has been taking on the color of what I feed it, and the thoughts I have stopped feeling like thoughts and started feeling like facts about the world I’m in,
If I could lay out my most repeated private thoughts, the ones I say I’m trying to nurture, would I still tolerate the way I’ve been letting them run unchecked,
Recently I’ve realized my mind has been taking on the color of what I feed it, and some of these patterns slipped in without my permission while others I keep returning to out of habit, unsure if I’m ready to let them go...
There is a closed door in me I’ve mistaken for preference, and I catch myself assuming the ending of a conversation before it’s spoken, wanting confirmation more than transformation,
There is a closed door inside me I’ve listed as preference, and removing it means acknowledging I built it and kept blaming the outside for the choice something that began with me alone,
How many times this week alone have I encountered something genuinely new, I already-formed opinion I keep near the door instead of staying in the uncertainty long enough to let the new thing actually land,
There is a closed door inside me I labeled as preference, but I feel ready to acknowledge it as a door, that I put it there, and that the choice is still mine to revisit if I have the courage to ask...
The shadow I return to feels less like a mood and more like a posture I keep choosing, and the kind of wisdom that gets to claim seen enough to know better without credentials,
The shadow I return to feels less like a mood and more like a posture I keep choosing, because I’ve already convinced myself the outcome is predictable from the history behind it,
Is the caution I call wisdom really protecting me from hurt, or is it just shielding me from the exposure that comes with truly engaging with the world, which I’ve been avoiding by calling it experience,
The shadow I return to feels less like a mood and more like a posture I keep choosing, maybe it’s time to stop lifting it to the same light and allow the morning to whisper something new...
The shape my thinking pressed me into without permission,
Standing in the room too long to smell the color,
A closed door I have been calling a preference,
Negativity dressed in the clothes of experience,
The day I never gave a chance to surprise me...
