I do not think my brain was made to hold
these swirling thoughts that dare conflict so strong.
I withstand their onslaught until I fold,
spilling out the words I’ve held in so long.

Locked up alone, lose myself in my pages.
The lines and their rhymes merging together,
fragments of beauty coaxed from their cages,
the craft keeping my mind on a tether.

I treat parts of me as puzzle pieces;
little bits cut by the steel of my blade.
Fixing and smoothing to mend folded creases,
until a perfect, new poem is made.

When its over, my mind’s light and airy
and writing becomes my sanctuary.

Editor: Shannon Hensley