Placing the eggs in order.

It hurts in here
I ask them to release the pressure
It’s swollen
because the little bugs
are multiplying
laying eggs
at the thousands
sprouting more thoughts
I’m trying to collect
placing the eggs
in order
as if they’ll write a story
seeded within my brain.

Several lined upon the table
I swat them to the floor
stand up and crush them with my feet
they’re never new thoughts
nowhere can I find a new thought
all the eggs
are sketched with words
structured by centuries
of society
teaching techniques
to appear intelligent
and others lacking of
when really
none of the eggs
are unique
because every thought I think
is a word that’s been used
and I feel
this frustration
crushing several more.

Then this sadness appears
this reality in which
looms over me
that if I finish
I’ll turn the pages of the novel
smeared of the guts
of the other spiders
because I can’t break free
of all the thoughts
and all the words
and the structures
of what already is
because a new thought
isn’t highly rated
because we fear
what isn’t.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina