Whenever I get really upset, and I mean fumingly angry or meltingly sad, I find that I always end up at Barnes & Noble, shopping for a new journal. I can't tell you how many journals I've bought over the years or how many of them are only half used, but anytime I think I'm suffering through a weird emotional crisis, I go and buy a totally blank book. Somehow, the knowledge that this book is empty and that I can fill it with completely new things is comforting to me, more so than any person usually is.
I bought a new journal today. For some reason, I've been extremely drawn to books made of recycled paper. I think I like the way the pages feel soft between my fingers and under my pen. It's like writing on a down comforter, if you could.
I went to Rec Park in Binghamton today with the intention of writing in my new journal but got there only to discover I had no pen in my purse.
Which is strange because I always have a pen in my purse, but whatever.
I don't think it was quite time to write in that journal just then. I think the time for that happened half an hour ago, but I chose another journal on my bookshelf because I didn't feel like going downstairs to get the new one.
Maybe tomorrow will be an ample day for christening a new journal.
In any event, here's the new poem, I cannot sleep.
A heavy weight sits on my chest
And my heart is too full for sleep.
My heart is full but breaking -
Brimming and cracking and swelling and burning
With a thousand things I have yet to say
And a million things I should not feel.
I am governed by my heart these days.
My mind is lost to me.
Has been.
It was never really mine to start but I let the delusions live.
My mind is lost to me.
That realization is heartbreaking.
Tonight I cannot sleep.
My heart is too full for such things
And my mind far too unbound.
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