There once was a fella from Maine
Who added some drugs to his brain:
     He lost half his mind,
     And the half left behind
Was totally ******* insane.

What if the heart really doesn't know..
Before I continue this, I'll tell you what inspired this poem
The saying(s) go(es) something like;
"The heart knows what it wants.";
Or; "Always follow your heart."
Well, back to the poem, just hear me out though
What if the heart really doesn't know what it wants?
What if we "think" we know what it wants by, in fact, manipulation?
I mean come on, think about it, our minds also have a need for dictation
and our mind's can't help but crave a life full of harmful justifications
So what if the heart is fooled into thinking it knows what it wants?
I seriously cannot be the only person with these kinds of thoughts?
I  thought I knew what it was supposed to be like, to be loved
But little did I know, that soon, the honeymoon would be over;
And the bond we once shared, we once had, became weak, and unplugged
What if my heart "thought" I "felt" like I was being loved?
Because I'm down as low as I can be or get;
So why does this person I deeply love so much, continue to push and shove?
What if my heart doesn't know
What if my heart doesn't even have a clue? So please tell me brain;
What in the hell am I supposed to do?!
They say to listen to the heart, but um, I can't just do that
For my heart only feels, and my brain does the real, true thinking
So when we say "I Love You" are we really feeling it like we think we do?
Or are we really thinking it like we feel we do?
A couple phrases causes me to believe;
that we are indeed manipulated by our brains;
Because the yin yang is real, it's literally in black and white;
Our hearts are constantly being tricked,
And our minds are playing games that sometimes come too quick
That's why we get hurt, not only do "hurt people, hurt people"
But that's why our hearts are so naive, because our minds are too slick
You can't have good without a little bit of bad; and
You can't have bad without a little bit of good
Just like this(ese) one(s) goes(go) something along the line(s) of this(ese);
And "just because you can, doesn't mean you should"
I just feel like I finally discovered something about the heart;
Could it be our minds running the entire circus show from the start?
Like maybe I figured out the real meaning;
of the connection between the two?
There's a message in this poem,
a reality between the heart and mind
Or maybe it's just my way of thinking,
and maybe I really am just one of a kind?
Maybe I'm just finally going insane and simply overthinking;
Or maybe I'm just finally losing a battle with a ship that's sinking
Because you can't have happiness, without a little bit of pain
and you can't lose, if you don't ever intend to gain
So my question(s) is(are);
What if the heart doesn't really know?
What if the heart really doesn't know what it wants?
and what if the heart simply never even had an actual clue?
What if the heart has always been manipulated into believing what to do?
and it's always been our brains that cause the;
mind to flaunt meaningless taunts?
So this is my outlook on why I believe our hearts are;
Manipulated by, in fact, our brain.

P.S.
Does anyone else ever think about stuff like this?
Does anyone else kinda wonder and feel the same?
So what if this really has some twisted kind of meaning?
Or am I thinking way too far out of the box and this is just decieving?


Stephanie A. Ludwig
04/21/2025

There’s enough language inside of my mouth to be understood.
I unhinge my jaw
my tongue rolls out
you can see the words sewn into my muscular tissue.
sentences lodged deep into my pharynx.
I clean my act, flash my cheekbones.
So there’s enough language inside of my body
to create the thought in your mind that
“I’m okay.”
Pain masked in articulation.
The lack to find all the points in communication.
The curse of comprehension.
All while sitting with what doesn’t exist outside of the novel continuously writing in my head.
There’s enough language inside of the world
to prove that no word can describe
my intelligence of my own being;
with coexisting with people who become illiterate
to the dictations of my mind.

Io! Maestro dell'essere,
mente a scacchi,
pronta a muovere la prossima pedina
con apatia e ordine. Ordine.

Non implorerò, mai, di avere
un nuovo paio di occhi
che non vedano in bianco e nero,
magari solo meno ingenui, idioti.

Ormai non mi vedo più nello specchio:
spalle, alzate.
Schiena, inarcata.
Capo chino. Pietoso. Indegno!

** già tutto quello che mi serve:
mani di pietra e velluto,
una fronte, rugosa, che parla,
risate tra il folle, e il nobile. Nobile.

///

Me! Master of being,
chess mind,
ready to move the next pawn
with apathy and order. Order.

I will, never, beg to have
a new pair of eyes
that do not see in black and white,
maybe just less naive, idiotic.

I no longer see myself in the mirror:
shoulders, raised.
Back, arched.
Head bowed. Pitiful. Unworthy!

I already have everything I need:
hands of stone and velvet,
a forehead, wrinkled, that speaks,
laughter between the madman, and the noble. Noble.