Why does it feel so good to get things down in writing? And how have I not known about this sooner? 

Sometimes I feel

That if I don’t have a reason to be drained of all energy

If I don’t have a need to make coffee in silence

And drink it while staring at a blank wall

If there’s no particular situation that pops up

While I’m listening to a sad song

And is the cause behind the hot tears that leak out from under my lashes

Causing little gray streaks in between the black

If there’s no excuse for why I focus on the sidewalk while I walk

To the sound my shoes make as they pad along

Then all I have and all I am will fade away

Until I’m just a lonely girl

Drinking coffee

Staring at a blank wall

I close the notebook with a satisfying thwack.

Why does it feel so good to get things down in writing? And how have I not known about this sooner? And how did Ma know how much I would enjoy it?