Journal Review

I pulled out a handful of notebooks from the last year and a half
looking for inspiration in the form of some forgotten scrawl
hoping maybe I wrote it down and I just forgot
I discover my doodles are as reoccurring as my dreams
little butterflies and an assortment of flowers and smiley faces
A half-sun shining from the top corner of most of the pages

I'm surprised how often I break character in my secret thoughts:
Hello starts with Hell, And it seemed desperate and maybe it is,
Hi typos! Let's make amends,
When people fall in love they do so violently,
I reach for my phone and I feel lonely
It would be rude to tell you that I love you.

It is not surprising
that all of these scribbles
are in different ink
Purple, black, blue, and green
 countless different pens
are collecting my thoughts
 in countless different spins
Some spring, some bruised, some Zen
 clearly written to me
or meant for someone else
 if illegible: to him

Feeling satisfied,
I put those old thoughts away
 place them
in no particular order
back into the milk crates
I store them in
But I am not satiated
I speak my peace
 but no one is speaking to me
in the language I speak
or maybe it's just me
If that's the case, now I'm listening...