Nancy's mental gymnastics

Words, thoughts, scattered oughts...
All tornadoing in my mind.

Those fleeting momentary expressions ...dared forever lost,
or possibly of those that cement and bind?

I have to get them out.
Lest they continue and whirl about.

My brain burns with activity...
as my fingers, on the keyboard, struggle to keep up.

Sort, organize, rid, forget, let go...
to right myself, I must write.

I’m real,
not to be ignored

Here lies the stored me, for all to see.
Do you need to read between the lines?!

I see clearer, the pattern is down...
The emotion is no longer in me, but on the paper I am holding.

Here my words have settled,
and so, too, the corners of my brain.

For now I close this chapter, that is... till the next presents...
The words keep coming... is this all in vain?

Or could this be the way it 'just is'...
The way to ‘me?’ Is this My Write of Passage?