My Mind is Not a Backpack

My backpack is well organized.

Everything inside has its own place.

It’s easy to find what I’m looking for.

My mind, on the other hand…

Is a different story.

My thoughts tumble,

Dive,

Roll around.

There is not a pocket for my insecurities.

There is not a pocket for my happiness.

I cannot simply place an idea in the back of my mind

And expect it to stay there

Obediently waiting for me to use it.

Nor can I easily find a thought

That has hidden itself.

Like a pen in my bag.

Songs find their way to the front of my mind

And I cannot make their lyrics disappear

No matter how hard I try to concentrate

On the book in front of me.

I would like to quiet the thoughts

That keep me up at night.

Place them in a pouch

And keep it zipped until morning.

Alas, my mind is not a backpack.