Internal monologue,

typewriter  font,

old timey kind of hurt,

poetry that doesn't rhyme,

not even mediocre,

straight abysmal.

But it's what the voices in my head sound like

trying to get me down,

laugh as I'm tripping on the ground.

But I'm taking their power away,

by writing them down.

Controlling them by making them malleable,

and in disbelief I look at the paper as in

typewriter font

they feel so insignificant now.