Journal
I feel. I think. I love. I want. I know. I remember. I hate. I need. And I am afraid.
Put me together with your stream of consciousness. Your ink and your paper and leather-bound pretention.
Hold the yarn as I untangle. Cheaper than therapy, and almost as good. Keep all the words that bumper cars and pinball. Still them so I can forget.
Sit patient and unused for months at a time. Put up with my promises, empty and resolute.
Come be my grocery list, my sketchpad, my rage room. Keep everything I can’t juggle for long.
And release.