In My Own Head

Just morning musings.

The thickness of the early Tennessee morning

Lies flat on my swirling, active mind.

We are pressed against one another —

Only one of us asks:

“Why do I exist?”

Each month, the question begs and ponders.

The gummies sorta help.

The strange urge to tap in-depth philosophy,

again, persists without collegiate help.

Is this coming to terms with self,

With life,

Death,

Or the one thing between true barriers and deception?

How do you remember what you remember?

Why does it fragment over time?

Why are meaningless moments imprinted?

How…

How do you still recall sounds from 1995?

Breakfast was great when Daddy made it.

There was Poundcake and Sounds of Blackness at Christmas.

Your “little cousin” is 30,

And you are 38 — locs, anxiety, imperfection — writing.

Time flew,

And I witnessed every second.

What does all of this lead to?

What’s it like in the next lifetime?

Running from the questions seems to dull the fear,

temporarily.

Two nerds got together

and created a curious walnut

with a nasal Chicagoan accent.

Maybe that’s all there is.

About the Author(ess): Veronica is an aspiring writer who currently lives in a small Tennessee town. By daylight, she assesses ads for Telus AI. By nightfall, she is the ultimate owl-woman: a Monster-chuggin’, Tubi streamin’ machine hellbent on finishing her many projects. [Contact Info]