Journaled

"Write your own story," the empty book said.

"Let others read the wealth of your knowledge,"

Putting pen to paper, the book was fed.

Of people, places and things did I rage.

"More." With trembling hand and seizing muscles

I frantic'lly poured out my darkest thoughts.

Brought into the light as the spectacles

they are, I thought of myself as I aught.

"Don't stop." So I wrote about sadness and

anger, fear, embarrassment, happiness

and the like. Once done, unable to stand,

consciousness swirled. Steeped in my catharsis.

I was finally able to let go

and reevaluate all that I know.