I sit in nervous wonder at how my ideas remain
How I abuse them always and drive them all insane
I ignore them often, pushing them aside
Though they always remind me that they are always by my side
How I often think about the ones who have left me
How they were my best but they were forsaken by me
I wonder why then, that they do not rebel?
Why they do not turn around and make my life Hell
Like other authors say theirs do, I wonder why mine do not
I wonder if it is because my temper is so very, very hot
Maybe they don’t want to cross me
For I am as I am told – a force to be reckoned with
A formidable old soul
I don’t know what the answer is, but it is always clear
That those who leave me are very few
Those who stay are loved dear
But I keep getting new ones, constantly banging on my door
I get them so often, I am popular
It makes my head quite sore
I never know who to take and work on every day
It’s like a mother with too many children, each of them want to play
I can’t give my attention freely, some I will surely neglect
I wished my mind was more organised
Instead the mess in there makes me sweat
Oh so many stories and songs and poems and rants there too
I wouldn’t go into her brain says my husband, if I were you
But there I go again, thinking about this and that
I just wished I could get on with it
Whatever is next, in fact?
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