Like a Black Line that Runs Down a White Page

NOTE: This is not like a normal poem and is very long. I don't know what others would classify this as, but I call it poetry because it has meaning and flow.

Like a Black Line that Runs Down a White Page, Who Knows Why It's There and Does Anyone Care?

Have You ever heard a song that depicted your life so accurately, You found it impossible to believe that those words could have come
from another soul?
Do You feel upset that someone who has never met You has found a perfect way to describe Your life?
This is something
You could never do.
You hear the song and become obsessed with this message it portrays. You listen,
repeatedly,
and memorize,
every movement in the music,
every word in the lyrics.
The more You engulf yourself with the melody,
the more You become uncertain.
You find that some of these colors splashed on this portrait of your life does
not
pertain to you.
This once mirror image of Your feelings has become slightly warped and this,
this unhinges You.
You now can either give up on this song and continue to search for the descriptive words You so longingly seek for,
Or
desperately cling on to the thought that maybe, for the first time in Your life, You actually understand what those jumbled thoughts in Your head,
and tangled feelings in Your heart
really mean.
If You choose the latter, You have to make Yourself believe that that color in the portrait belongs to You. You create this distorted image of You that this song, that represents Most of You, instead represents all of You.
But if You choose to no longer follow the song at all, You are back to the beginning. You are just an empty room,
wishing for something to happen inside.
Something more
than a song that's played too many times,
that Almost knows You.
The Real Question in Your heart is not "Does this song fit my life?\"
it is
"What is My life?"
And that,
that isn't in any song.
Or painting.
Or poem.
Maybe if You cut them apart,
a note of a song,
a verse of a sonnet,
and fit them together like a puzzle with pieces of so many colors, that when joined, they create one new color.
But
would what You pick and choose really be You?
Or
would that be just like the song that doesn't quite fit, and this mixed up puzzle just an idea of something You wish You could be?
I suggest You choose option three.
Turn off the music,
turn off the light,
turn off the thought that loves to argue with You,
and go to bed.
What Else Can You Do?