thoughts are blurry,

swirling in my head,

unformed and unshaped,

confused,

until

the poems come;

streams of words becoming art,

becoming beauty,

forming into something solid

and true,

words defining my thoughts,

defining my dreams,

defining my life;

words flowing freely,

uninhibited;

and when all is written

I stare at the page,

poems baring my own soul

and I am able

to understand my own mind.