Confession to my Mentor

I am a messy thinker.

 

The sentences of my essays spill

over the

margins with words scribbled in and crossed out

Countless revisions

My penmanship looks like the belly tracks of snakes heading home in the sand after sunrise in June

Or the scratches on my clarinet case,

My line work spraying graphite

Sketchy

Imprecise.

 

I am,

a library with no system

Untitled books from untracked sources

Back rooms filled with novels

Stacks on the reading desks

All check outs by chance,

Each idea occurring and

Slipping my mind immediately

Lost in the clutter

and sometimes,

The absolute seas

dashing currents

vortexes and riptides

of intangible mental processes and churning identities respectively,

spinning me on my heels.

 

Thank you

For each stream of thought redirected

For each reservoir of knowledge dammed up

For Compartmentalizing

Clarifying

Crystalizing

each shining concept.

 

Now I can

peer through the corridors of my mind,

And see,

White light.  

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741