Seeded

random thoughts that come to light

are never truly, that, or anything

(sometimes I feel so consumed by self)

like that, just random thoughts

(I can’t appreciate anything else around me)

they are, rather, born from us

from somewhere in us, triggered

(the weight of existence)

by something, so far removed

(on older, weaker shoulders, labours everything)

from random, so far removed

intrusive, maybe, random, no

(I feel imprisoned by guilt, regret)

they don’t just spring forth

(all cherry-picked by a psyche that buries me)

they were buried by me, by us

seeded and watered by existence and experience

(it’s a hard-won battle)

grown and encouraged by consequence and discouragement

(to keep from slipping under)

we can stop, I can stop

I need to remind myself that

(but not impossible)

giving nourishment to these random thoughts

(nothing’s impossible)

instead I should, we should

pick at those seeds, like the birds

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is another poem that I published on Scuzzbucket, a Medium publication, first. You can find the link below to the original, which was published on March 29, 2025.

Here are some other things: