Journal, no bullets.

I stopped journaling a few weeks, maybe months ago because I lost my nightstand pen. Isn’t that silly? I STOPPED writing down my thoughts and frustrations and letting out scribbles and tears until my heartbeat raced from anxious to calm because of a MISSING PEN! So if you know where that pen is, I’d like it back. This is an open letter to my work desk, or my giant interview purse, or my gym backpack. I want it back. Loud and clear! So here I am, pen-less, but full of frustrations, anxiety and those stomach wrenching farts that make you feel at chi when you let them out. You know. Ain’t gotta lie to kick it.

Tonight was a night to *fart* peak all the nights before it. Not a good peak. But emotional peak. We all have that homegirl who has to mace her exboyfriend twice in one week and ask for a shot of half&half at the bar to heal the residual burn on her face, AM I RIGHT?  Mk. Maybe just me. But we all have that kind of night where everything was innocent, you saw a disaster brewing, and then it all BAM! everything is all haywire but all you can do is stay in the eye of the tornado and not run away because someone you care about needs you even if they don’t ask. Broad. But I don’t know you super well so that’s where I’ll leave that off. Byeee

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