I try to listen to my intuition, but how do I know it’s leading me the right direction? I haven’t known it very long and trusting in something I can’t even see seems imprudent, even for me. My intuition tells me that my intuition has been usurped and is controlled by another being, so now I can’t trust either, and know which intuition has come to fruition. I’ve made too many misinterpretations to rely on the inconsistent intuition instructing me to continue on with this boy whose stimulation just rubs me the wrong way. But the insightful intuition and I have an unspoken understanding and it breathes veracities in my inner ear, dubbing over the fabrications others have quilted to keep me comfortable when I go to sleep at night.
If only there were some third party intuition to intervene and say who is who and what is real, I’d feel more grounded, and maybe that would keep my head from bobbling while I’m swerving through the intersections of Who Am I Ave, What Do I Do Lane, Where Do I Go Blvd, When Should I Stop Circle.
These intuitions have settled in my stomach, etching impressions of depressions in my gut, and stumble from the beds they’ve shaped casts to when my curiosity rouses them. They stash a megaphone down there and bellow from below my reach, up through my innards until a voice actually spews from my mouth. Did I say that out loud? I know I should keep thoughts to myself, but these thoughts aren’t my thoughts, they belong to that fool, Intuition, who thinks he’s so big and bad because he’s been right one too many times. That’s why my belly has been growing, from that damn Intuition’s ego with every “I told you so.”
I challenge these intuitions to compete for my affection, and so I’ll hold the greatest competition, a game so complicated that I can’t even type its instructions, for then they would use their intuition to cheat their way through. It’s the game of life, good luck boys.