Sometimes
Some days my mind is an empty cup
fine cracks through the glaze
a chip on the bottom
sound but worn
waiting to pour out on the page
but bone dry
so the page languishes
*
Sometimes my mind is a running engine
humming and churning
hot and full of sharp edges
waiting to be harnessed into a story
but uncontrolled
so the story churns, unwritten
*
Some days my mind is well behaved
full to the brim with thoughts
tires spooling neatly over asphalt
pages filling
story running
and it seems like it could never be
anything else
*
Sometimes is only
sometimes
Reblogged this on The Write Stuff and commented:
Another of Caitlin’s lovely poems. Most of us here can identify with this one, I’m sure.