Clichés

A Poem by Porcelain Doll

not an original thought lingers in my head,
cliches, explained and utilized and re explained in many a situation for many a reason.
not a single original thought, do I possess in this lovely yet confining dome that sits upon my build.
this fully unfathomable concept of thoughts composes cliches.
little bubble floating around, to fly away or to be popped and reminiscent of simpler times or times of yore.
these cliches have been pondered by many a high school student siting in this very seat, but I ask what do they really mean?
why the sudden urge to know the hue of grass dependent solely on the location in relation to a simple fence, why are parents trees, yet I a measly Apple? why the world a beach, and I a grain of sand? A tree, an apple, a blade of grass, and a grain of sand and yet I, nor anyone is fully wire of their identity or place in this world
not an original thought wander the empty streets of my left- side brain. But I ask, does that make me right?