Sometimes the pages of my journal
seem like a confines;
neatly boxing in my burbling expressions
of creative inspiration.
The pages in my notebook
are a bit more forgiving,
though the margins
are lines my writing dare not cross.
Occasionally, there’s rogue spillover.
The Notes on my phone
are useful and pretty
but are often stiff,
limited in range of motion
and less allowing of room for error.
None of this is to say
I’m not grateful for these mediums,
only that there are many times I’ve imagined
transcribing my thoughts
directly into open space,
watching them interact with
the environs around them.
With enough intensity,
I see the words dance from my synapses
to the tips of my fingers, and across
pages and screens –
transforming into sentences, stanzas, and prose.
knowing the pages of my journal are safe space
is ultimately more freeing