The bliss in journaling

My journal space, sacred and creative,
Where I can be myself, completely
Pages await my words, the furtive
Scribble of my fountain pen, in play

It is a space where I can mumble
Mutter to myself about life and
A place where I can celebrate the joy
Of certain moments in my life

On the pages I can be still, scribble
Find the words for a poem that
Tentatively bubbles to the surface
Within those pages I am home

In the sanctity of my journal
There is only my inner world
A space to be insecure and weird
Finding myself in ink on paper

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