Something I started as a sad little girl
Keeps me awake late, shadows of curls
Dance on the pages, splattered with ink
Why can’t i sleep w/out lists that i think

I write and I write, I number and draw
My mind keeps giving chicken scratch scrawl
Why such a ritual, instead of warm milk
Or counting wool sheep from soft sheets of silk

The notebooks i fill w/ these random words
Scream forth insanity like nocturnal mocking birds
They pile on dressers, a hope chest, and the floor
They prop up my book shelves and leave open the door

With bullets of figures and kindergarten ABC ’s
My lists open my heart like an old set of keys
They remind of past secrets, of childhood dreams forgotten
From the spoiled girl i came from, so petty and rotten

I stare at this paper, so fresh, clean, and crisp
Pleading for the letters sown up in this list
I sketch out my thoughts, so i can get some sleep
And lay down the journal, I constantly keep