I wrote to untangle myself
Most nights when dread settled
In and the quietest place in my
Head became too still
I wrote to unclasp and bury
The anxiety that was often
Left behind by jigsaw puzzle pieces
Just waiting to fit perfectly.
That is when I discovered
That perfection did not exist
Beyond the words on my pages
Or the little anecdotes of humour and wit
We so fondly narrate to each other.
I wrote with doors shut and
Feelings escaping a mason jar
The colour of rust
I didn’t have screens back then
The loud wasn’t quite as loud
As what we’re so used to today.
I recall penning little side notes
That I wrote for myself
Shoddy handwriting, parenthesis and I
We really did come a long way.