She picks up the book,
she wrote when she was fourteen,
it had everything.. all her hopes and dreams
reads her old journal, its time for her to come clean.
Sometimes I wondered about keeping a journal, and then realize that if a journal is about how you feel at given times, then I already started a journal in my poetry.
After a long days journey, I settle in
by the crackling fire, with a bowl of hot
New England clam chowder in hand.
I ponder as the steamy silhouette forms