I have never managed to keep a true diary. I’m not very talented at routine. I do have what I call my poetry journal. Every so often, words happen in my head that need to come out. Usually, especially in the case of the really good ones, it feels like someone else is talking through me, though in retrospect they often feel more true to my emotions than they did in the moment.
A few days ago, while going through some boxes, I found my first poetry journal. I go through them slowly, so I’m only on my second one. Reading through it, I found some poetry that was truly terrible (the worst were the attempts at song lyrics), and some that I really liked. For so many reasons, I decided it was time to stop hiding it. Hopefully it means something to some of you as well as to me.
P.S. The picture at the top of the page is from my second poetry journal, which I made. Some of the pages are printed with that image, which I made by writing random quotes and words on tracing paper and gluing in layers over each other.