"Joey what are you doing?"
She barely looked up from her notebook. "Writing."
"You? On a Friday?"
"It's a poem."
"I thought we were gonna watch movies."
"We are...."
"When?"
"When I finish this. Why don't you go to the bathroom or something?"
"I just came from there."
"Then go make yourself a sandwhich, give me some time."
Dawson rolled his eyes but gave Joey what he wanted. He went into the kitchen & began making himself a turkey sandwich.
"Whatcha doin?" his dad asked, coming in & getting a beer outta the fridge.
"I'm giving Joey time to write."
"Joey is writing?"
"A poem."
"Whoa. Watch out Dawson. This is how Alanis Morissette started out."
Mitch gave his son a pat on the back & Dawson headed back up the stairs with the sandwich.
"Are you done?" he asked Joey.
"Yeah," she handed him her notebook. "You tell me. Be honest."
He took it from her & read it slowly.

The twister is one that engulfs me,
But no one else.
It seems to throw away my pain,
So it can hurt me itself.
It twists & turns & tosses debries
Its results are killing me,
Bringing me to my knees.
I get in the center,
A moment of peace,
A moment to rest.
And then again starts the twister,
Grabbing me.
Pulling me.
Tossing me.
Taking my breath of life with its destruction.

"Wow," Dawson said after reading it.
Joey gave him a look. "Wow what?"
"It's great Jo, really, but--"
"But........."
"What's it about?"
Joey stood up & went for the window. "My life Dawson. It's autobiographical."
"Joey, you're not......I don't mean.....I'm not the twister am I?"
"Never mind it Dawson, it's just a stupid poem." she climbed down the ladder & sighed when she got to her boat. She could never tell him the truth, no matter what.

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