Ocean of Words

Salt water rushing through my hands,
I’m drowning in an ocean of tears
while the papers bleed into one another.
Wide open eyes sting with the force
of a swollen mind covering my vision
with pages of memories I should forget.
Hit in the head with the ball meant to
sink me in the emotions filling the tank
at the carnival of all things tearing me down,
my writing carousel has become submerged.


My therapist was created by murdered trees,
rolled and cut into sheets, stamped with
inked lines that guide our conversations.

He wields a metal spine, curled tight,
wrapped around my thoughts in attempt
to hold our sessions in one place.

I create my therapy sessions with plastic
tubes around thin sticks of led, topped
with a rubber mistakes eraser.

We make appointments daily, accumulating
emotions, finding their meanings, and the
outcome always seems to be poetry.