I'm trying not to think too much,
Trying not to analyze or dwell on the what ifs,
Trying to just get through the next minute,
The next hour, the next day
With all my faculties intact.
Wiping my mind clean of all my foolish mistakes.
I thought when I hit forty,
I'd be smarter, wiser-less likely
To fall flat on my face.
It just seems that my mistakes
Are just grander and more spectacular.
God, I hate feeling like a fool.
And having no one to blame but myself
Just makes it worse.
I am fighting the part of me that wants
To curl up into a ball and die,
The part of me that wants to cover up pain
With food and sex and alcohol,
The part of me that wants to revert back to form,
And live in the dark where it is comfortable.
I lay flat on the floor and count my breaths
And empty my mind of every thought, or try...
But there you are again,
And I am so frustrated that I can't shake you
Out of my head, and be rid of you for good,
I just want to scream.
Words that should never have been said,
Words I never wanted to hear
Are on a loop in my head and I wish
I could erase them, wipe them clean
From my mind so I could just move on and forget
That you ever existed at all.
For now, I would settle, for a minute
Of not thinking about you.
Sandra Brennan's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Not Thinking by Sandra Brennan )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(30 October 1885 – 1 November 1972)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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