Writing As Therapy

I realize that not everything I’ve written,

Needs to be shared,

I look back across so many lines,

Where my soul I have bared.

I think of all the feeling,

And emotion that I see,

And remind myself that perhaps that,

Was written just for me.

Writing is my therapy,

The focus I achieve,

When with words upon a written page,

I allow myself to grieve.

Thoughts that have robbed me of sleep,

And haunted me at night,

Seem a bit less frightening,

When viewed in black and white.

As they spill out together,

And line up on the page,

The words seem more orderly,

And less inclined to rage.

Errant flights of fancy,

Twist out for me in rhyme,

I relax and breathe more fully,

After writing for a time.

In silent frustration,

With no words that I can say,

I write my thoughts upon the page,

Then go about my day.