Writer’s Block / A Journal of Sorts / 2.11.16

My head is a bombshell,

inside my thoughts sit, sentient,

but explosive, inching to be free.

There are so many thoughts

dying to escape

pressure builds, accumulates

like the spring rain  

and the winter rain

so many emotions,

I am so confused.

I could laugh,

I could collapse and weep

I could sleep and wake, and sing such lovely songs, I could scream and cry and shout and stomp.

I want so badly to release the pressure,

so badly to let it out

so badly to be released. 

But I squint my eyes, as if holding it all in

like caging it inside my skull

frustration,

wonder, joy

fear, grace

sadness, and contentment

I can’t decide,

what I feel.

unless confused is somehow more of a feeling

more feeling than the rest

more real

more whole,

complete, somehow,

completeness in broken pieces

like a fractured vase

that is my mind, in shambles, shapes.

Figures and lines, curves and colors.

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