A different poem started creeping up in me a few days ago but it can't seem to get out yet. I was lying in bed just now, thinking about it, when my mind started thinking about my somewhat unpredictable writing process. This new metacognitive poem was the result of that tangent. At 3AM. My brain has a mind of its own. This is what it had to say.
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Sometimes they just flow out of me, like they've been ready all along.
Other times they wander and rush through my head for days,
Like they're trying to find each other
In the chaos of emotions
They've beat down, befriended, or become along the way.
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