Sometimes I have to coax the words out as they sit shyly in the corner
Yet, sometimes the only relief from the flooding of my mind is to grab a willing canvas
It’s an agonizing feeling of sitting helplessly while hearing every line of your next creation going through your mind
To look around and see there’s no pen or paper to help birth the ideas
As time passes the sensation will dull and the raw emotion that once had your heart racing, has floated back out into oblivion just beyond your reach
The words that were so perfectly strewn together have gone back into the soil of my brain to serve as fertilizer instead of a harvest
How many looks of confusion and pity have I been given as I scramble to “write it down before it’s gone”?
Too many not to know that those occurrences aren’t common among all
My pen doesn’t have enough ink, the paper doesn’t have enough lines
My fingers can’t hit the keys hard enough and the cursor on my screen can’t keep up
It may be more profitable to train the flow, direct it, so that I can call upon my words at request
But that just seems so wrong, so counterproductive and insensitive
I don’t want to forfeit the excitement of never knowing when lightening will strike
I’d rather sit at the ready sharpening my skills of trying to keep up, rather than trying to slow it down
How insane to try to tame the fire just so I can predict the way it spreads
That strategy works for some, but I like my words wild, free to come and go as they please
While I do love the soothing purr of ink carefully flowing across the page
I love the adrenaline of the growls as the tip barrels down on the notepad
Or the makeshift claw marks my movement leaves because I can’t contain my excitement
I’m not talking about the words whose sound resembles the fresh morning dew
I’m talking about the ones that come like a hurricane to break down all the walls you’ve built
To wake me up in my sleep, throw things across the room looking for my journal
“For such a sweet smile, she sure can get aggressive.”
I flew past aggressive’s exit long ago, I’m much closer to maniacal
I’m no owner, just the passageway offering these things their proper voice
Let them lurk, roam, and stalk their prey as it was always meant to be
Afterward, they always bring back the sweetest inspiration that cannot be held captive
The type that will not come on command or bow to your timing
Oh, to love my words is to admire an unpredictable being
Not one of burden, but one of blessing
The best of me as always had a secret hiding right in the middle
The Be(a)st In Me

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