Sometimes it occurs to me that my thoughts are not my own. Rather, they are my desires and longing taking form in poems, lyrics; other people's words.

I don't think it's that I can't find words to tell what I'm thinking, draw what I'm seeing. It's just easiest to form these things using pre-existing constructs. When I think: Every day is like survival, it just sounds like a line, but I'm busy concentrating on the survival, I can't find energy to originate my own words, lengthy explanations that will never convey what I need to say. I use the little subtitle that popped up in my mind, because as a caption; it works.

I think in other people's words: I use cliches to condense what my thoughts tell me, the hubbub of voices I hear.

I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together.
That says it all: True, you may not learn much about things that way. But that's what my thoughts sound like, under all the echoes of "This can't be real" and "Let go, let go". I can grasp someone else's statement and use it as a prop for everything I hear but can't put to concise words.

Get into the line where you belong.
This is what I sound like; bits of strangers' words, plagiarism for convenience. My voice, keeping harmony with a song I've long forgotten, chimes in with the refrain and more truth than I care to hear:
But where do you belong?

If you could tune in to my thoughts, they'd be very much like three radios on simultaneous scan, random clips of songs telling a disjointed story. That's what it sounds like.

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