I Cannot Underthink

As I was sitting at my desk, drinking mint tea, and eating peanut butter toast, I was led to the conclusion that underthinking is something I cannot do. Contemplating life is like smog that has settled over my eyes, refusing to lift. Making any sort of decision is met with hours of procrastination and more hours of working up the courage to express said decision. 

I am unable to go a day without chaos ensuing in my mind. Whether it is terrifying or pleasant is unknown until the thoughts have appeared. There is little space in my mind where no thoughts can go but that continues to be proven false as I continue to age. Nineteen is an age of anxiety and depression. Yet, I am stuck in a stage of spiraling thoughts that drown the little sanity I have left out.

Those suffocating thoughts are not all undesirable though. The poems written are of truth and imagination. Reality is both existent and fictional in my writings but is that a terrible thing when I can imagine what it feels like because that is all my mind is capable of?  

As I am sitting at my desk with an empty mug and paper plate, there is little to be bored of when all I have in my head are truths and stories I see as true. For, if I were to underthink, I would die.