Wax Seal

When my mind is running

rampant,

I tend to put my thoughts in an envelope

and stamp it.

Send it to myself.

Leave it on the counter.

Keep it wax sealed;

strictly for the doubter.

I’d probably fill the room;

making it waist high.

Become sort of a hoarder,

and it’s the saddest reason why.

I feel like there’s no control.

I feel like an outsider.

I feel too chaotic that I’m still.

And I can’t do anything about it.

Dear reader,

You have another letter.

This one gives some hope

that she may be feeling better.

Sadly, that’s a lie.

Progress is forever.

It’s always signed the same,

with regard and my name.

I’ll send the worries off

and know that more often times than not

I’ll have sent it to myself.

I’ll have grabbed it from the counter.

Ripped through the wax seal,

and had it comfort this old doubter.