Which mind minds what I bring for show and tell?
The one that’s always late or the stickler for the bell?
Which mind’s tell, which one is the show?
Visual flamboyance, or my verbal plateau?
Who’s pulling strings when clutter is my camp?
Who’s pouring ink for pessimists stamp?
Is it the makeup or you, masking me a traitor?`
The mind or the mirror who stands as my berator?
Who’s the poorer and commentary for this half empty cup?
The umpire deeming best, is never good enough
Mr Mind, that I mind, did you know you have a foe?
A contradiction to your course, the script for this show
It’s the cup that’s never empty, or less than half full
The “I’ve had enough of this cup,” the “I won’t be late for school”
It’s the mind that cleans the clutter, in light of comforts camp
The etcher to the carvings, who imprints a pardoned stamp
It’s the waving checkered flag, which knows I’ll reach the end
The clapping hands, the waving fans, the shoulder that I lend
It’s the hand that refrains from snooze, when alarms are calling
The judge who deems my presence is coherently enthralling
Yet, the question that I ask at night, is who will show tomorrow?
The mind who I mind, or the one in my dreams to follow?