I wrote until my fingers ached
The pen denting my finger
I’d hope the words could bellow out from the page below
Hear me
My mind a jambalaya of thoughts
Expressions tied in knots around the tip of my tongue
Screams jarred down my esophagus
Emotions needling through my veins like mercury
Turning solid in my bones
Remorseful skeleton
Prisoner to her own words
I thought the poetry could set me free
It’s turned my life into complex metaphors
An index of riddles
Lost between lines and stanzas
I’m writing the words out of myself and myself out of the words
My journal has become my emotional purgatory
I wrote my soul on paper
An illustration of a jail cell
What’s no longer locked inside is locked in lines of graphite and ink
Eternal bidding hell
My notebook