MIND OVER CHATTER

My mind just loves to talk to me.

Yammers away all hours of the day. And night. 

In fact, especially at night.

Loves waking me up…keeping me up. 

Pillow talk. (It’s words. Not mine.)

“Wait!” It scolds, “No la la land for you just yet!”

(Apparently it equates rest with being available.)

“Hello!” I snap back. “What about my rem stage!”

One of the sharpest arrows in its quiver 

is its ability to rationalize anything I say or do.

Nice for me. Maybe not for you. 

Another sharpie? Justifying. Again, you name it,

Even my ‘me bad’ stuff. (Especially my ‘me bad’)

And its capacity for denial? Well, unbelievable.

But there’s good stuff, too. Dreams. Memories. Joys.

Alas, pundit to pontiff, it has an axiom for everything,

everything from gossip to graduation-grade speeches.

Seems its goal is to give me whatever I ask for,

Oh, sometimes it’s all sweetness and light.

But at others, it can be downright nasty.

One moment it’s a lick-my-face puppy,

the next it’s a spitting mad Silverback gorilla.

So, much as I’d like to, I can’t just ignore it,

but neither can I affirm everything it sprouts off.

No, I have to monitor it. Mentor it. Mold it.

One good thing though, I’ve got a trump card.

Maybe I can’t control when or even why it thinks,

but I have total sayso on what--and how--it thinks.

At least, that much I’m in charge of.

Mind over chatter.