I’ve been spending more and more time writing on
LEGAL YELLOW NOTEPADS
Instead of my private journal lately
And I don’t know why.
Is it because I don’t want the journal’s
neat,
pristine pages to be tainted
with sad,
angry thoughts?
That the journal is only meant
For good feelings,
For “how was your day?’
And “good, you?”
Even if it wasn’t good?
That the thoughts on these flimsy pages
Matter less
than the ones in the pretty notebook?
That these angry scribbles
And half-finished thoughts, and
These tired,
Lonely,
Unsure thoughts
Aren’t good enough for those cream-colored pages
With the faux-gold cover?
that tian tainting it,
Staining it,
Would be a sin unto itself?
Maybe it’s like,
Being open with my friends.
The fancy journal,
The one I bought on impulse when I was sad,
Is my friends.
I tell them only the good things,
And keep the rest hidden away,
On these
LEGAL
YELLOW
NOTEPADS
That I only give to my therapist
We spend so much time pouring over these pages
That we never get to the
ROOT
Of the problem.
Maybe
All this writing,
Pondering over what paper to use or what pen to wield,
That it’s distracting me from actually
DEALING
And
FEELING
And
FIXING
My problems,
So I don’t have to apologize to my nice journal
Every time I write an entry
That’s a little too harsh.
MAYBE.
E. A. Young Writes 