I am weeding the ground of my mind
Picking through the thoughts that grow
Deciding which I want to keep
Digging others out at the root.
Some are fine but there isn’t space
Some will not survive my soil
Some scattered seeds I never noticed
‘Til they sprouted seasons later.
Some plants pull out clean, complete
Others put up a fight
Rhizomes of anxiety, self-sabotage
Stretch subterranean across my landscape
Shooting new spears through the surface
When I thought I’d got them all.
But this newly-bare earth is not empty
This blank space will not stay blank:
It is a tidy room
A new notebook
In which to plant
For next season.