My Journal

On these blank pages of paper
Unruled, spiral-bound
Out flows my noisiest thoughts
Seeking shelter, a home
And my mind, a sense of calm.

My pen, held by my hand
All too quickly flies off a page
And on those rare moments
I would pause, I would think
I would contemplate.

I am more of a constant doodler
Than an artist who dares to dream
And imagine a world, albeit make-believe

My journal acts as a confidante
It has witnessed how I argued, confronted
Fought and made up with close friends
There were a few tear-stained pages
As I recounted my unrequited love.

I alternately scribbled about
Sad and joyful moments
I would pen in great detail
Those rare instances I felt triumphant
Over life's harshest blows and burdens

Indeed, journaling was catharsis, my therapy
A tool that keeps me sane
A sanctuary that keeps welcoming
This weary, wounded traveler.