My thoughts, you could say
are as tangled as my hair
Tossed about by the wind
pushed and led by the air.
I can only describe my thoughts
with words that don’t exist
In my hands I hold them
clench them tightly with my fist.
I open my hands to find
only my skin; of words are bare
They must’ve escaped by my own folly
if they’ve gone I know not where.
Must get a grasp
my thoughts all a rush
If they’re as tangled as my hair
then I need a brush.