By Breanna Fernandes
I don't know what to do
With thoughts that trouble me at 3 am
Making me restless and hopeful
And eager for change
Or with thoughts that never come
when I need them at 10.30 am
On a Monday morning
To give me money
to sustain that hope
But, where do these thoughts come from?
Are they born in the cell body, the axon or the dendrite of my neurons?
In eighth grade
When I sketched bare neurons
in my science notebook
I couldn't see my thoughts in there
I asked my teacher
And she told me how small yet potent my thoughts are
They can't be seen, she said
But they can move mountains
The hill near my home remained
right where it was
But her words helped me make peace
With the good thoughts and the bad
She said a neuron looks like a stroke of lightning
Like a glimmer of light
And so I thought they called me smart
When my friends often muttered
'Ay tubelight' as I walked by in the corridor
I sunk in deeper thought
How does my little neuron comprehend
the difference
Between thinking and overthinking
Doing and overdoing
Learning and burning, out?
How does it know what those letters hold?
I wanted to burn brighter
I wanted to shine
And so
My father served me crosswords for breakfast
And novels for lunch
Giving my neurons
Ample food for thought
He told me
Battles, games, bets and hearts
Are all first won or lost here
Feelings, colours, perceptions and lies
Are all first born here
Now my brain can feed and raise more ideas
Than my womb, children
So, it angers me
When they say
that it's all in my head
Where else, dear reader, do they think my
thoughts come from?
Maybe next time
I should draw my thoughts
And adorn them with lights
In that diagram of the cell body, axon and dendrite of my neuron