This journal was never a plan
to be all that I can
just a hungover whim,
a trip to Shelburne Falls
steering clear of crowded malls
I found myself in a bookstore
whose marketing was just for me,
I could hardly help but sing
"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT THING,
THERE'S A CAT IN THE WINDOW!"

Almost two years later
I am hardly able to fathom
the truth in the words
"these pages made her."
I etched pieces of myself
in them.
Dug so deep
I'm no longer up the creek
isn't that neat?