I found my poem
Within a small red book
With thin red ribbon lying through it
Sitting on a table beside my bed
Filled with odd
Writings
Drawings
And sections of blank pages
It takes me back-
I am sitting on my soft blue and yellow bed, scribbling
Propped up on the tan carpet floor, violently erasing
And redrawing lines over and over

It takes me back-

Some pages filled with

Colorful cursive in pen, the same word filling the page
Others with pencil drawings, lyrics scrawled next to them
But they all connect to
A different place
and a different time
And I remember
and I sit down,
To fill it again