poems - nobody thinks like i do

Nobody thinks like I do.

532Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpAEvTWgkkS

When I see the sky

it is a painting in my eyes,

I try to memorise it, to save it in my mind,

and am struck by sadness with the realisation

that I cannot,

then I am awed

by the fact that this moment, this sky

precisely as it is at this very second,

this moment will never come again.

I am sharing in something

universal

yet ignored. Only when the moments form times

and the times form memories

do they matter -

but all this time I have just been staring at the sky

and upon questioning looks I reply,

'The sky looks like a painting...'

and in return, I receive no unkindness,

but no understanding;

nobody thinks like I do.

532Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLwerxOREsQ

My heart is both literal

and metaphorical. It can be stuffed to the brim

with worries

yet it is also an organ

required for life -

why is a heart shape shaped so?

If it is not, truly? Is it because

I have two hearts, both as real as each other,

yet only one is 'real'? What is real?

Perhaps my brain is a heart.

When my head aches from wondering, my heart aches from not knowing.

I cannot voice nonsensical questions

for fear of being met

with confused looks and disguised feelings.

For, nobody thinks

like I do.

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