When my thoughts won’t line up
and keep ricocheting off the walls of my head,
I open a blank page
and let them run.
Typing gives them an exit.
A door instead of a dead end.
What was noise becomes shape.
What was heavy learns a name.
Each word is a small release.
Each sentence proof
that I survived the moment
it came from.
Later, I read them back.
Like trail markers.
Here is where it hurt.
Here is where I stayed.
Here is what I carried.
And this is what I made it through.