Paper is light and heavy.
As it flutters at a mere glance, yet weighed down by the HEAVY thoughts that are borne aloft Morning Pages each day,
It shreds in seconds, no heft or substance to it.
But it holds volumes of thought, fresh off the bed, sleepy-eyed and all in a mess or tangle,
Struggling to make sense, and the effort is a bit much.
So I let it all out on the light paper, transparent and flimsy,
No pretense or excuse of any kind.
Endlessly unraveling the morning memories and sighs and imaginings,
Holding them all in, letting them all out.
Only the shredder knows the truth.
